The Bringer
by Ultimate Raisin
Summary: Sam has a special destiny, but is it for good or for evil? Dean may be the deciding factor. Wincest. And a happy ending was had by all except for the two who don't get a happy ending. What the hell. Nobody liked them anyway.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sam has a special destiny, but is it for good or for evil? Dean may be the deciding factor.

Slash, non-con, violence, pseudo Wincest (Sam/ShifterDean), eventual Wincest (Sam/Dean). Nothing in this chapter, though.

Author's note: _I am a fairly recent Supernatural convert, and I have not yet seen the episode "Skin." I finally got the first season on DVD, so I hope to get it watched this weekend. I've already sketched out the story, though, so I don't plan to change my characterization of the shifter. If there are any canon errors about its origin, abilities, etc., please consider them to be part of the AU._

**The Bringer – Chapter 1**

"Are you sure, Missouri? I mean, are you absolutely certain?"

"I would never put you and your children on this path if I weren't 100 percent, John Winchester. I know good and well what this will do to the boys, especially Dean, but it's necessary."

John sighed and closed his eyes. His head thumped onto the side of the grimy phone booth. He hated shit like this - the proverbial rock and a hard place. If he ignored Missouri's warnings, as he had once before with painful results, Sam would be gone. If he carried out this crazy plan, Sam would still pay a heavy price, and Dean…God, Dean would be devastated. _Better devastated than dead, though. _Because John had no doubt that if Sammy were truly lost to them, Dean wouldn't be long for this world.

"They're going to come for him, John. Dean's protection will only go so far. He can't keep the stronger ones from noticing Sam's power, from wanting that power for their own. Something has to be done."

"When?"

"Soon."

John straightened his shoulders and growled, "Can you be a little more specific? I need a timeline."

"I wish I could give you one. I can't get a good read on the boys. Something's blocking me."

John's ears perked at the confusion in Missouri's voice and the implicit message in her words.

"Danger?"

Missouri pursed hers lips and furrowed her brow. She hadn't been able to feel Sam's energy clearly for the last two weeks. Dean, now, she was reading him loud and clear. He was furious and afraid in equal measures, but Sam? Muted. Like seeing a flashlight through a blanket. You could still see the light but it wasn't as bright or as defined.

When she first felt the shift in what she called Sam's spiritual signature, she wondered if perhaps the boys had figured out how to camouflage Sam on their own. However, with the onslaught of Dean's rage, she knew differently.

"Missouri? Are my boys all right?"

_Snap out of it, woman. You've got a terrified father on the line._

"They're…all right. Sam's upset, and Dean is angry. I get the feeling they aren't traveling together."

John sighed. Again. His little warrior had obviously pissed off his little dreamer. Again.

"Do I need to call them? Get them to work it out?"

Missouri felt a spike in the anger/fear/hate radiating from John's eldest child. It felt like he was on a hunt.

"Hold off for a bit. You have things to take care of before you call the boys to you."

Before John could respond, he heard the soft click as the psychic severed their connection. John hung up, stepped from the booth, and made his way to his waiting truck. Missouri was right. He did have things to do, lots of things, before he sold his baby into slavery and ripped the soul from his firstborn.


	2. Chapter 2

The Bringer – Part 2

AN: Some language in this chapter.

There were very few things in this life that Dean Winchester hated. Oh, there were a lot of things he didn't like, but he could count on one hand those things he absolutely hated. The Demon, of course, for murdering his mother and denying any chance of normalcy for the remaining Winchesters. Acid rain for what it did to his baby – that shit was hell on a classic paint job. Topping the 'Things I Hate' list? Sammy in pain, and Dean unable to do anything about it.

Dean rubbed his tired eyes and resumed his staring match with the giant water spot on the ceiling. Eventually, his eyes drifted to the empty bed next to him. He had automatically requested a room with two queen beds upon check-in. It didn't hit him until he unlocked the door that no one would be sleeping in that bed. Just like no one had slept in the extra bed at the last few dumps he had been forced to stop at or risk running off the road.

_You fucked up, Dean. You fucked up bad, and now Sammy doesn't have his big brother to protect him._

As the red neon light from the clock hit three in the morning, Dean gave up any pretense at sleep, switched on the lights, and got back onto the computer. Taking a sip of cold coffee, he opened one of the many pages he had bookmarked over the last two weeks and compared various entries and stories to John Winchester's journal and his own hastily scribbled notes. He missed Sam acutely. Geek-boy could do this so much faster.

Dawn was typically a happy time for hunters. A surprising number of things that go bump in the night don't show their faces in the daylight. If you were in a tough spot, you could always hunker down and hold out for the light. Dean found himself dreading it, because with each new day, he would get to see Sam. Sam in the hands of a monster.

_Rrrrinnnng._

_Rrrrinnnng._

He answered the cell with a simple, "I'm here."

A familiar voice, its tenor a perfect match for his own, responded, "I've got a real treat for you this morning. Enjoy." The call ended.

The soothing sounds of Judas Priest's _You've Got Another Thing Comin'_ heralded the arrival of the latest email. Dean took a deep breath, opened the message, and clicked the attachment. The laptop took a few moments to load the images and then they began to flash across the screen in a slideshow of shame.

Dean's shame.

If only he had been a better brother, a better hunter, the shifter wouldn't have gotten the jump on him, wouldn't have stolen the only precious thing in Dean's life. And now he watched, as he had each of the last twelve mornings, as picture after picture showed his Sammy being brutalized by a monster with Dean's face.


	3. Chapter 3

Some language and some insinuated non-con in this chapter.

The Bringer – Part 3

_Two Weeks Ago – St. Louis_

Dean shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Real cobwebs – they were in his hair and dangling in front of his face. While he managed to dislodge the webs, the shaking served to awaken the pain in his head.

"Wakey, wakey, Princess."

Dean's head snapped to the side, assisted by a backhand from the owner of the voice. A voice which sounded suspiciously like…

_Oh shit!_

Dean opened his eyes to see, well, himself. The smug smile, which he had practiced for hours in mirrors across the country, was plastered on the face of the shape shifter. Dean remembered now. The shifter had surprised him in the sewer and had separated him from Sam. Dean relaxed against his bonds and tried to appear casual as his eyes traveled around the room.

"Sammy's not here anymore," said the shifter as he moved behind Dean and out of his line of sight. "That is who you were looking for, right?"

Dean felt his muscles stiffen. "Where is he? I swear to God, if you've hurt him…"

Dean's words were short-lived as the rope securing his neck to the timber was twisted, choking off his air. The pressure remained steady for nearly a minute while Dean's face grew redder and redder from the blood pounding in his head. When the rope was released, Dean's gasp echoed through the room and was followed by small coughs as he tried to catch his breath and ease the pain in his throat.

"I was planning on killing him, on killing the both of you," the shifter whispered in Dean's ear as he crouched behind the bound man.

"But then I got this skin, your skin. Your memories. Oh-ho-ho, man. Your own brother? And people think I'm a freak."

Dean didn't respond. What could he say? That he hadn't spent the last six months jerking off to fantasies of his baby brother? The thing would know he was lying.

The shifter moved back in front of Dean. "After I saw those images, well, I decided I just have to find out how the real thing compares."

Dean's fear-fueled rage poured from his mouth in a torrent of curses threatening creative and excruciating punishments should anything happen to his Sam. The shifter laughed the way Dean himself hadn't in too many years.

"Your Sammy? Your Sammy? Wrong. He's my Sammy now."

The shifter slipped an object from his pocket. He showed it Dean – Sam's cell phone.

"I'll be in touch."

With that, the shifter extinguished the lights and abandoned Dean to the sewers.

It took Dean two hours to free himself from his bonds. Obviously the snaky bastard hadn't intended for Dean to die down here. The knots, while time-consuming, were eventually overcome. Even with trembling fingers made slippery with panicked sweat.

After smacking into one too many dead ends, Dean finally found his way to the surface only a few blocks from where he had parked the Impala. He reached into his pocket for the keys.

No keys.

He looked down the street.

No Impala.

No Sam.

Dean pulled out his cell, prepared to call his father. He'd just get the voice mail again, but what the hell. At least he was _doing_ something rather than standing around with his thumb up his ass.

The ringing of the phone was so shocking in the quite of the night Dean nearly dropped it. He checked the caller ID.

Sam.

But Sam didn't have his phone anymore.

Dean took a deep breath, held it for a two count, and then released. He thumbed the Send button and held the phone to his ear.

"It's me."

"You have eight hours to get to the Motel 7 in Humble, Kentucky. Check in under the name Skinner. I'll let you see Sammy."

When the shifter hung up, Dean put his phone back in his pocket. Thoughts of calling John had been replaced with thoughts of getting Sam back safe and sound.

Dean muttered to himself as he looked up and down the street. How the hell was he going to get to Kentucky with out a ride? Dean's first and luckily only stop was Rebecca. He turned on the charm, not too much; she was Sam's friend after all. When he told her that Sam had been kidnapped by the "killer," she was happy to let him use her car.

Dean nearly headed for the bus station when he saw it. A bug. An honest to (_oh my God, it's orange!_) goodness 1971 VW bug. Hell, even if he managed to get Sam back, no way could his mutant brother fit into the thing. The only reason Dean didn't run screaming from the garage right then and there was the fact that when he found Sam, he'd find his car as well.

As the bug made its way toward the interstate, Dean scrunched down in the seat as far as possible. The shifter was dead; that much was a given. However, if anyone Dean knew saw him in this chick-mobile, the skin-stealing bitch's death would be slow and painful.

On his way to Humble, Dean tried not to think about the shifter's parting words. If the monster touched Sam that way, Dean would never forgive himself. It would have been his fault; the thing had only wanted to kill them before it downloaded his memories.

The miles passed quickly and soon he was on the outskirts of the humble little town of Humble. It was really just a wide spot in the road. He would stick out like a sore thumb with or without the giant pumpkin he was driving. On the other hand, the Impala and her occupants would be easy to spot as well. So why couldn't he spot them?

The motel was on par with what he was used to. He checked his watch. No sweat. Twelve minutes to spare. Dean checked in under the name he was instructed to use. His luck was pretty crappy all around – the clerk was a dude, and not even a good-looking one. He had just unlocked the door to his room when the bedside phone began to ring. He jumped the bed and grabbed the receiver on the second ring.

"Sam?"

"Never ask for Sammy. If I want him to talk to you, I'll let you know."

_Fuck._

"Is Sam OK?"

"Are you stupid? What did I just say? Oh, that's right. You are stupid. Sammy's the brains of your pathetic little the family. He was smart enough to get the hell away from you."

The words, though painful, were nothing he hadn't thought before. Which is how the shifter knew exactly what to say.

"If you're not going to let me talk to Sam, then what the hell did you call for?" Dean allowed his irritation to bleed into his voice.

There was a pause followed by the shifter's Dean-voice saying, "Did you know that Sammy has seventeen moles on his body?"

Dean felt his breath catch in his chest. "You said you'd let me see Sam."

"Log into your hotmail account. You'll see more of Sammy then you have in years."

Dean continued to press the phone into his ear long after the dial tone announced the call had ended. He slowly hung up, then checked his email. As promised, he saw Sam.

And so for the last two weeks Dean had driven from motel room to motel room, where and when he was ordered. He waited for the calls and the emails and tried desperately to find a pattern in the shifter's choices. Dean was nearly at the end of his rope, but he couldn't give up. No matter how much pain he was in, Sam was suffering so much more. Dean wouldn't let Sam remain in the hands of that monster for a moment longer than necessary. He had to do something soon. His gut was telling him that time was running out for his Sammy.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Language. Not too graphic non-con. A few violent images. Be warned - here there be Latin and not very good latin at that. Just go with it.

He had planned on several days of slow torture for the youngest Winchester to be followed by a bloody death, but each time he approached the boy with damage in mind something stayed his hand. He fought it; he even hit a helpless Sammy who was cuffed to the car door. NewDean, which was how he had come to think of himself, fell to his knees and retched. He hadn't counted on the emotions attached to his new skin. When he accessed OldDean's memories, he also got the full-blown protective instincts regarding Sammy. End result? He couldn't physically hurt Sammy, and man, wasn't that a kick in the nuts? A gift from the old-older brother to the new-older brother.

He hadn't hurt his Sammy since, not really. Sammy might not agree, and OldDean certainly wouldn't, but still…

His Sammy.

His Sammy was…

His Sammy was fucking beautiful. And he was beautiful to fuck. NewDean could barely think in complete sentences as he thrust rhythmically into the body beneath him. Sammy's face was a mask of pain and disgust, but his eyes never left the face of the man taking him. It was against the rules, and Sammy was a quick learner.

NewDean had to be the luckiest _sonofabitch_ on the entire planet. Not only had he K-O'd OldDean, but he'd taken Sammy AND the Impala and high-tailed it out of St. Louis. Now he was leading the elder Winchester a merry chase around the Mid-West. He hadn't quite figured out how to permanently get rid of the other hunter. He had to be careful. OldDean was the best leverage he had against Sammy.

The young man had tried to escape once, just outside of Louisville. When NewDean caught up with him, the boy was punished. Of course, with his inability to hurt Sammy, he'd found a whipping boy.

The pace of his thrusts picked up as he recalled Sammy's expression during the first – and so far only – punishment session. Delicious horror had bloomed in those soft brown eyes as the elderly homeless woman was ritually disemboweled before him. NewDean used blood squeezed from the woman's still-twitching heart to stretch the boy's entrance and then lube his own cock before pushing inside Sammy.

He remembered his words to Sammy as he fucked the youngest Winchester on the cold concrete of the warehouse.

"_If you ever leave me again, Sammy, you'd better make damn sure I'm dead first. I swear if you bolt I will find the nearest elementary school and turn it into a slaughterhouse. I will make this the most wanted face on the planet, and every cop will be looking to take down Dean Winchester. While the cops are hunting Dean, I'll take another skin and I will come for you. You're mine now, Sammy. You're mine and I will never let you go."_

"Oh, God. Sammy!" His orgasm pulsed through him as the pictures from that night, the blood, pain, fear, and death flicked through his mind. Sammy had never repeated that attempt at freedom, had never called for help. NewDean had made the consequences crystal clear.

One final thrust and he collapsed on Sammy's chest. NewDean ran his hands along Sammy's ribcage and up his arms to ensure the handcuffs had not caused his beloved any injury.

He kissed Sammy's chest once, tenderly. As NewDean drifted off to sleep, a soft sigh escaped his lips.

"Bringer…"

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNNSN

Dean's dreams usually fell into one of three categories: sex with girls, sex with Sam, or nightmares about losing his family. This one wasn't following the rules.

He was walking through a field at night. He didn't know what kind of field. Could be wheat. Could be corn. Could be just really tall weeds. _Hey, not a farmer here!_

There was a full moon to light his path as he followed the sound of chanting. He stepped into a clearing where he was met by a strange sight.

In the middle of the clearing, Sam lay naked, and an unknown man kneeled beside him. The man was anointing Sam's body with oil; Dean could detect honey, mint, and rosemary among the scents wafting through the breeze. Although the man was a stranger, and Sam was in a terribly vulnerable position, Dean felt no fear for his sibling.

As Dean approached the pair, the man ceased his chanting and gazed up at the newcomer. Dean had to gasp. The man was beautiful. Ebony ringlets haloed olive features highlighted by luminous velvet-brown eyes. The man beckoned Dean closer.

Dean knelt on the opposite side of Sam's sleeping form. Without conscious thought, he held out his hand to the stranger. The man grasped Dean's hand, turned the palm downwards, and placed it on Sam's forehead.

"_Familius."_

The clasped hands moved to touch Sam's chest where his heart beat strongly beneath Dean's palm.

"_Spiritus."_

The hands completed their voyage just beneath Sam's navel.

"_Eros. Do you understand?"_

It seemed terribly important to the stranger that Dean understand the meaning of the ritual. Dean really wished he did as well. He didn't want to disappoint the man, and Dean had a feeling it was vital for Sam's well-being that he understand.

An eighteen wheeler's hissing breaks as it pulled into the rest stop jerked Dean from his dream-vision thingy. He wasn't the one who was supposed to have visions. The Shining was Sam's gig. But Dean couldn't discount the feeling that there was something more to what he had seen. He checked his watch and decided he had enough time for a quick wash in the restroom. He had to get to Alabama by sunset.


	5. Chapter 5

The Bringer – Part 5

Sam lay awake for hours after the shifter had finished with him for the night. He puzzled over the shifter's whispered words…_Bringer_. It sounded like a title, an honorific. It sounded familiar. Sam had a sudden urge to get up and search through his father's journal. His arms twitched in response to his desire, but the handcuffs securing him to the headboard halted his movement.

The shifter nuzzled closer to Sam, its warm breath teasing the baby fine hairs on Sam's chest. He couldn't stop the shiver that coursed through his body. He gazed down at the dark blond head resting against him. He was struck with the familiarity of the scene. Sam and Dean had shared beds growing up; it was cheaper, and both boys had felt more secure with their brother close at hand. However, it was usually Sam curled into his big brother, Dean's arms wrapped tightly around him to protect the younger Winchester from monsters both real and imagined.

Sam cursed to himself. How could he have let this thing take him from Dean? Not only take him, but keep him? No, that wasn't fair. He knew. It was that woman in the warehouse. She had been so terrified, and the shifter had…it had…hurt her. It could just have slit her throat or broken her neck, but instead it had chosen to inflict maximum torture. It was a graphic lesson for Sam and he would never forget her eyes as the light of life flickered and died. The threat of further violence against innocents, not to mention the threats against Dean, left Sam vulnerable to the shifter's manipulations.

It was so hard not to attack. So many times he had been on the brink of lashing out against the monster with Dean's face, but he knew the first blow delivered would have to be devastating. The shifter had Dean's memories; therefore, he had Dean's training. As good a hunter as Sam was, Dean was better. Dean loved the hunt and hadn't taken time out for 'normal' like Sam had. If Sam couldn't eliminate the threat of the shifter with one blow, he would have to wait. To be patient. To bide his time until the perfect opportunity presented itself. Or until Dean finally showed up and kicked this thing's ass. That was something Sam had no doubts about. Dean would find him, and Dean would kill the shifter. It was inevitable. Sam knew it. He wondered if the shifter knew it. With thoughts of the terrible vengeance his big brother would wreak upon the false Dean, Sam was able to drift into slumber.

_It was one of those moonlit nights straight out of a Hollywood horror movie. Full, bright moon with a smattering of clouds; fog roiling along the ground; strange sounds echoed and stranger shadows flit between the trees and bushes of the stagnant swamp._

_The three young people made their way along a well-worn path. Their parents and older siblings had traversed this part of the swamp in decades past. The teens had been drinking; that was obvious from their stumbling, pushing, giggling trek deeper into the bog. This was a test of adulthood; a right of passage for the children of Texarkana._

_They arrived at their destination – an ancient swamp tupelo stretching more than 80 feet into the night sky. The base of the giant was a record-breaking 6 feet in diameter. The teens flopped to the soft earth at the base of the tree._

_The predator, its rest disturbed by the sounds of laughter and youthful high spirits, descended from the canopy, claws extended._

_The laughter turned to screams and the soft earth turned to red mud as severed arteries pumped blood from rapidly cooling bodies._

Sam felt the hands on the sides of his face and heard the voice urging desperately for him to _'just breathe, Sammy, Goddammit!'_

Sam managed to gulp in much-needed oxygen. The vision left him still tasting/feeling the blood in his throat. He trembled violently as shock wormed its way through his system. The headache that usually accompanied his visions made itself known. Sam tried to grab his head as relentless pain stabbed his temples but again his momentum was cut short by his bindings. He heard the shifter whispering to him, trying to calm his fear. Sam kept his eyes closed so that he could pretend it really was his Dean trying to soothe away the pain as his brother had done so many times before.

"Sammy? Open your eyes, baby brother, and look at me."

Sam opened his eyes a fraction then screwed them shut again as the lamplight assaulted his sight.

"Shit! Sorry, kid." Sam felt the warm body above him shift and heard the _snick_ as the light was extinguished.

"It's OK now, Sammy. C'mon, let me see those big brown eyes."

At the gentle prodding from his not-brother, Sam slowly raised his lids, ready to drop them at a moments notice should the painful light return. Blessed darkness awaited him, saved from complete blackness by bits of neon shining through the thinning drapes. He could make out the Dean-shape as it shuffled around the room. Sam felt the extra blanket being laid across him and the sudden increase in warmth as the shifter settled in next to him, skin to skin.

"That was a bad one, huh? What did you see?"

Sam recounted what he could of the vision. The shifter gazed at him calculatingly then sprung from the bed.

"All right. I'll get our stuff packed and we'll get on the road."

"Where are we going now?"

The shifter smiled and shook his head at Sam's confusion.

"Arkansas. Sounds like we've got a swamp monster to hunt."

"Hunt? You want to hunt?"

"Well, yeah." The shifter sidled closer to the bed. "Of course, if you'd rather not, we could always stay here for a few days. I could find something to keep us busy."

Before the shifter's hands could creep under the blanket covering Sam's groin, he answered, "Arkansas is good."

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

NewDean quickly packed their meager belongings into the Impala. The motions, so familiar to this skin, allowed him the freedom to let his mind wander. He had been terrified to wake to Sammy's struggle for air. The gurgling deep in the younger man's throat sounded like a death rattle. Somewhere inside he had recognized what was happening – Sammy was having a vision; it was the first the boy had had in the time they had been together, and it had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

The possibility of losing Sammy reared its ugly head. He knew that Sammy would not risk another's life for his own, but what if, in the midst of a vision, Sammy just…gave up? What if instead of fighting back to consciousness, he allowed the shadow of death overtake him? NewDean didn't know if he could stand it if he woke up one morning next to the empty shell of the man he loved more than anyone or anything.

_How do I keep that from happening? How to I keep Sammy with me always? He'd been trying a half-assed Eros bond for a week, but it wouldn't take without some consent from Sammy. What about a compulsion spell? There were a lot of different ones out there._

He would have to give this some thought.


	6. Chapter 6

The Bringer – Part 6

A/N - A shout out to my few but loyal reviewers. Thanks for the author food!

The sprawling mirror behind the bartender allowed John Winchester to keep tabs on potential threats and to keep an eye out for his contact. He hadn't seen Reginald "Rezzy" Lezare in ten years, but he was sure he would be able to recognize him. The man had been six-foot six, two hundred and sixty pounds – all muscle. His size was memorable enough, but Rezzy was widely known in the hunting community for his skill as a tracker; at thirty-five, he was the best in the business. It didn't matter if something walked, crawled, swam, or flew, Rezzy could track it to its lair and put an end to the thing's existence.

John had learned from Rezzy and, when they were ready, John had brought the boys for tracking lessons as well. Dean was a natural, but Sammy? Sammy was phenomenal. He had really blossomed under Rezzy's tutelage. John remembered how proud Sam had been when the boy had beaten Dean in a tracking exercise.

"_Did you see me, Dean? Did you see? I found the hair and the claw marks in the tree and the rocks that didn't have any algae on them and the mud on the dry bank and the broken twig but that was just to throw us off the track 'cause it was deliberate broke and not like an animal ran by really fast and broke it on accident and then..."_

"_Yeah, Sammy, I saw you. You did real good. I'm proud of you. Now breathe!" Dean laughed at the ten-year-old's contagious joy at having done something hunting-related so well. When he tousled the boy's hair, Sammy lit up like a Christmas tree. Even then, Sammy had lived for Dean's approval; John's approval was only secondary._

A slight drop in the decibels of the cantina brought John's attention to the newest arrival. Definitely Rezzy. Except for some salt in his formerly pepper hair and a few crow's feet, Rezzy hadn't changed. John rose from the barstool and turned to greet his old hunting companion.

Rezzy approached the eldest Winchester with no small amount of trepidation. John had been very guarded on the phone. Rezzy's curiosity about the legend that was growing around John Winchester and his sons was strong enough to bring him here. That didn't mean he came unprepared for…eventualities.

_What if Dean had told his father about that night? It's not like he actually touched Sammy. He wasn't a pedophile!_

"Rezzy. It's good to see you again." John's voice, while pitched low, carried clearly to Rezzy.

"John," said the tracker as he shook his old hunting companion's hand, "it's been a long time."

"Ten years. The parlingua in Louisiana."

"Ah. That was a nasty one. Took me almost two days to track the fucker."

"Two days that Sammy was missing. If it weren't for you…"

Rezzy nodded his understanding. It had been a near thing. The parlingua – half human, half swamp gator - had taken the youngest Winchester from their camp near the swamp. Strangely enough, the hunters were not even looking for the parlingua. They were actually hunting the swamp's _faux-faux-lais_, which were responsible for several missing tourists, but once the monster touched Sammy, it was as good as dead. Dean had the honor of landing the killing blow when they had finally found its nest.

John glanced quickly around the cantina.

"You got a place we can talk?"

"Sure. I've got a place just outside of town. You want to follow?"

John nodded, and the hunters left the lights and sounds of civilization behind them.

Rezzy was keyed up at having John in his home. He still didn't know what this was about.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Beer, thanks."

Rezzy brought John his drink, and the men enjoyed the quiet companionship as each sipped their beverage.

"John, not that I don't like touching base with other hunters, but on the phone you said you had something important to ask me. So go ahead and ask."

John usually enjoyed directness, but this time, what he had to ask carried a strange combination of anger, embarrassment, and desperation. He carefully set down the bottle and began to speak.

As John's story unfolded, Rezzy at first felt relief. Dean had obviously not mentioned what Rezzy had done all those years ago. Instead, he was being asked to..God.

"John, are you sure this is even going to work?"

"It has to, Rezzy. Missouri said he's starting to attract attention from these things. Right now it's the weaker demons, but with each day, his power gets a little stronger, and his attraction for the demons gets stronger as well."

"But surely there's another way. Some spell or talisman. Something."

John gave a weary sigh and replied, "There are, sure. But it could take weeks, hell even years, to find the right ones. Sam needs protection now. I thought about the different hunters I know. Who was the strongest? Who was the best shot? Who can keep Sammy alive and safe until I can come up with something else? You're in the top three in pretty much any category I could think of. You can do it, Rezzy." The worried father paused for a heartbeat then continued, "There's also the way you feel about Sammy."

Rezzy's heart leapt into his throat, and his hand reached surreptitiously for the blade under the couch cushion. Either he wasn't as unobtrusive as he thought, or John had gotten much faster over the years. The .45 at his forehead halted his movements.

"If I wanted you dead for what happened, you'd be celebrating your ten year anniversary as a ghost right now."

Rezzy raised his hands in the gesture for surrender. "John, I don't know what you think happened, but I never touched Sammy. I swear."

John slowly lowered the weapon and replaced it in its hidden holster. "I know. Dean told me what happened. He was damned grateful to you for tracking the parlingua and saving Sammy from becoming one of those things. That's why he waited to talk to me until after you had left for the New Orleans job."

Rezzy lowered his hands. "You still want me in on this thing?"

John's brown eyes met Rezzy's pale blue ones. "It's not a matter of want anymore, Rez. It's a matter of need. I need you. Please. For Sammy."

Rezzy nodded gravely. There was no real choice for him. He had waited years for a chance and now the boy's father was throwing Sammy into his arms.

Who said dreams don't come true?


	7. Chapter 7

**The Bringer – Part 7**

He had driven non-stop nearly fifteen hours, pissing in a plastic cup he found rolling around the floorboard whenever nature called, but he had made it to the Alabama motel at the time directed by the shifter. There had been no phone call – cell or land line - no email, and no (thank God) pictures of Sammy being raped again. It was a relief, but it was also worrisome. What if something had happened and Dean wasn't there to protect his little brother? Dean had waited in that shabby little room, just sitting on the bed shooting cockroaches with a stash of rubber bands he found in Sam's messenger bag. Finally, just before check-out, six hours after he should have been contacted, he turned in his room key and hit the road.

Dean was down to his last ten bucks in cash, and he used that for gas. He did have one of Sam's fake credit cards, which had been tucked into the bottom of his brother's bag, and he'd used it to buy a few changes of clothes. His duffle was still in the Impala, so the shifter had all of Dean's things.

_Note to self – when you get your stuff back, burn the underwear._

Dean killed the bug's engine at a rest stop on the Alabama border. He was torn between turning around or following his gut. His head was telling him to get his ass back to the motel. If he missed the phone call, he might never see Sam again. His instincts, however, were driving him west. That would take him through Mississippi and Louisiana, states with both good and bad memories. The good ones mostly had big breasts somehow involved, but the bad ones were always hunts. A particular one nagged at him.

Louisiana. The parlingua.

He had been hunting with his Dad, Sam, and an old friend – or someone he had thought of as a friend – Rezzy Lazare. This scaly bitch came out of nowhere and kidnapped Sammy. Dean had been scared out of his mind while Sam was missing, but Rezzy had tracked her through some of the roughest swamp Dean had ever seen. Sam was scratched up, scared, and dead tired, but he was alive. That was one of the few times in his life since his mother died that Dean had broken down and cried. He'd rocked Sam in his arms for ten solid minutes. He had been so goddamned grateful to Rezzy that he had let the man get away with molesting his little brother the next day.

Now, here he was ten years later, allowing another monster to have his way with Sam.

No more. Dean started the engine. He was fucking tired of being toyed with. It was time to do that which he did best. Hunt. He pointed the car west and let intuition be his guide.

* * *

A/N: Short chapter, I know, but I wanted to get something out there. I have a ginormous paper due this week, and I didn't have the time for a longer one. Sammy angst is next! 

Anyway, thanks to everyone who read and those who reviewed my _Bringer_ prequel "_The Parlingua: Rezzy's Story_."

Three shout outs. **Liana-chan**, if you haven't read The Parlingua, please do. It is dedicated to you. Next, to **Phx**. I have loved your work for the longest time, so when I saw a review from you I almost peed my pants. Your Hardy Boys stuff is some of the best fan fiction out there. Finally, I see that **valkyrie-alex** has this story on her alert list. Hey girl! Get over there and give me some more _Dakota Noir _and _Glass Darkly_. If you do, I promise to update my SS stories. Due to circumstances not beyond my control, I opened a new account. Who am I? A hint from Chapter 15: _Hahaha! Alien porn is hot!_


	8. Chapter 8

**The Bringer – Part 8**

Sammy/ShifterDean non-con. Mostly smut to set up the next chapter.

* * *

The final strains of AC/DC's _Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap_ preceded the appearance of a 1967 jet black Chevy Impala. NewDean guided the car into a clearing among a copse of trees at the edge of the swamp of Sammy's vision. As the engine idled, he glanced over at Sammy whose forehead rested against the passenger-side window. NewDean checked his watch, and a hungry smile spread itself across his face. He had a few ideas on how to kill some time. 

NewDean stepped out of the car and opened the trunk. He rummaged around for a few moments then reappeared with three lengths of stainless steel chain. Sam watched with growing trepidation as one end of each chain was secured beneath the car and the ends of the chains, shackles attached, were laid carefully on the hood.

Sam tensed as his door was opened. His hands, secured by handcuffs through the arm rest, were pulled forward, forcing the rest of his body to follow. He was proud that his voice came out steady when he asked, "What are you doing? We need to get started if we're gong to get this thing before those kids show up."

"We've got plenty of time," replied the shifter. "You said the kids didn't show up until the moon was out. I'd say that gives us at least a couple of hours." NewDean placed something in his mouth, grabbed Sammy by the hair, and pulled him in for a brutal kiss.

Sam resigned himself to the kiss but balked when he felt something strange being pushed into his mouth. When the transfer was made he pulled back and spat the object into his cupped hands. It was a key.

"Uncuff yourself and strip."

NewDean stepped away quickly then rested his back against the nearest tree. He wanted to enjoy the show. He really wanted to help Sammy lose those clothes, but he wasn't about to get within arms reach of the boy when Sammy wasn't restrained in some way.

Sam dawdled over the cuffs as long as he dared, finally releasing the locking mechanism. He tucked cuffs and keys into the pocket of his hoodie. He cast sad eyes at the shifter, hoping for a reprieve from this latest humiliation, but none was forthcoming.

With a deep sigh, Sam began removing his clothing – first the hoodie and T-shirt followed by shoes, socks, jeans, and boxer-briefs. As each article was carefully deposited into the Impala, Sam felt himself blushing furiously. He couldn't believe after everything this monster had done to him that he could still feel embarrassed at having the shifter see him naked.

Sam, refusing to drop his gaze no matter how self-conscious, asked, "What now?"

The shifter licked his lips and took a moment to adjust his growing erection before answering, "Your right wrist. Lock it into the shackle nearest you then step in front of the car."

It was too far away, and Sam could see the gun butt protruding from the shifter's waistband. Now was not the time to rebel, so Sam did as he was directed. The earth was surprisingly cool beneath his bare feet while the Impala's still-rumbling engine sent waves of heat over his ass and back.

NewDean moved from the tree back to the trunk where he removed an old blanket. He stepped to the Impala's grill and placed the blanket on the hood.

He instructed Sammy to hop on and was pleased when the young man immediately complied. NewDean tried to calm his breathing as he watched Sam's graceful movements. The second shackle was secured to Sammy's left wrist. The youngest Winchester was now supine on the hood, arms secured and awaiting NewDean's pleasure.

NewDean pulled Sam's cell phone from his pocket. "Sammy," he called. The bound man turned his head to look at his captor. He was met with the sound of his photo being taken.

"This is what I call a Kodak moment," said the shifter as he moved around Sammy taking more pictures. He was careful to avoid those long, beautiful legs. Sammy could snap-kick with the best of them, and NewDean didn't relish the thought of a broken neck.

"I haven't called our old friend today. He's gotta be freaking out right about now."

'_Dean,' _thought Sam, '_Please. Please come and get me.'_

NewDean made quick work in discarding his own clothing. He secured one of those legs with the final chain and climbed on top of Sam.

NewDean pressed gentle kisses to Sammy's eyelids and nose before attacking the younger man's mouth. He used one hand to snap the occasional picture with the camera phone – OldDean just had to see this.

NewDean relinquished Sammy's lips and said, "I actually feel a little guilty. I have a lot of fantasies that you and I are going to play out, but this one? This is all Dean Winchester." His free hand fisted itself in Sammy's hair while he ground himself against the body below him. "He dreamed about you chained down, unable to stop him from doing anything and everything he wanted. Fucking you raw on top of the car with the engine rumbling like a giant vibrator. The two things he loves best in the world. And they're mine. You're all mine now, Sammy."

NewDean claimed Sammy's mouth again forcing his tongue inside. The cell phone clattered onto the hood and dropped to the ground. He used his now-free right hand to breach Sammy's entrance and began to stretch the tender opening.

When the shifter moved from Sam's mouth to his neck – _fuck, that hurt!_ - Sam opened his eyes and let them drift around the clearing. Night was falling quickly and shadows were forming. He tried to focus his mind on something other than the newest violation occurring to his body and the filth pouring from his not-brother's mouth. It was only moments but felt like hours when Sam noticed one of the shadows, more substantial than its counterparts, separate itself from the tree line and stealthily approach the coupling pair.

"Dean!" Sam called, arching his back trying to get the shifter's attention.

"Oh, God yeah. You like that, baby? Wait till I'm inside you; you are not gonna believe how good I'll make you feel." The shifter increased the pace of his finger fucking, ensuring he hit Sammy's prostate with each thrust.

Sam couldn't help his body's response to the stimulation, and he couldn't look away from the approaching horror. As he came, he reared back and smacked his head into the shifter's.

"Ow, Sammy! Bitch!" NewDean slapped Sammy hard enough to leave his handprint. "Think that's funny?" NewDean knelt between Sammy's thighs and forced himself into the still quivering hole.

Sam gasped in pain at the blunt intrusion. He managed a panicked, "Dean! Behind you!" before the monster attacked.

* * *

More Sammy and the shifter next chapter! Please review! 


	9. Chapter 9

The Bringer – 9

Sam couldn't contain a small yelp of pain as the shifter was pulled roughly from his body. The swamp creature, gripping the blond by the scruff, flung its prey headfirst to the ground where it bounced once then lay unmoving. The monster crept cautiously toward the body; there was no response to the creature's prodding claws. It turned its attention toward its other victim.

'_Shit!' thought Sam. 'It's coming!'_

Sam jerked furiously at the chains that secured him to the Impala like a prize butterfly. His free leg scrambled desperately for purchase, but he was hampered by the blanket that was protecting his bare skin from the heat of the engine.

While his body struggled to free itself, Sam's mind was busy cataloging characteristics of the monster as it approached. Yellow eyes the size of saucers; man-shaped, with a stocky, powerful frame adorned with patches of matted fur; claw-tipped appendages stained black from years of blood and grime, it's overlong arms allowed the claws to scrape the ground as it walked, and it walked upright with a rolling, hitching gait due to one malformed leg. An old story, told by a thirteen year-old Dean to a nine year-old Sammy over a campfire long ago, rose from the depths of memory. The Fouke Monster. Sam had only a moment to wonder why it had turned into a man-eater before it was on him.

* * *

Dean gasped and bent double as he was hit by a sudden painful spasm. Cindy? Sandy? The cute brunette, whatever her name was, who was helping him asked, "Are you all right?" 

Dean straightened and, glancing quickly at the nameplate on her desk, replied, "Nothing a piece of _Candy_ couldn't fix." He let loose The Smile and watched with satisfaction as the young woman's cheeks turned a pretty pink. "How you coming there? Any luck?"

Candy forced her eyes from the flirtatious hottie sitting next to her and focused on the task at hand. Mr. Winchester (_Please, call me Dean, and when can I call you?)_ had reported a cell phone as lost or stolen; she was trying to triangulate its position. She had been searching without success for a several minutes when the phone had finally been turned on.

"Here it is. Just a little southeast of Texarkana. Do you want me to notify the police?"

"No! No police." Dean struggled to retain his composure. He was so close now. God knows what the shifter would do to Sam if it were forced into a standoff with the cops. Dean slid closer to Candy and draped an arm around the back of her chair.

"Would you print out some directions for me? It could just be a mistake. I don't want to get some poor kid in trouble because he picked up the wrong cell."

Candy complied and handed Dean a printout with directions from the cell company's Traskwood office.

Dean snapped up the printout and thanked his cellular angel by cupping her face and kissing her soundly. As the re-energized man left the building, Candy fanned herself while her co-workers hooted and cheered.

Dean climbed into the Great Pumpkin and fired up the engine. "Hold on, Sam. I'm coming."

It was a two hour drive to Fouke. Dean made it in an hour and fifteen minutes.

* * *

John had given Rezzy directions to the rendezvous point before leaving him in New Mexico. The older hunters would prepare everything for the younger hunters' arrival. Rezzy had to meet up with John the day after next, but the tracker had to make some preparations of his own. 

He wasn't nervous about Sammy. Once he had the youngest Winchester to himself, Sammy would be made to see that they were meant to be together. No, Sammy wasn't the problem, and evidently John was not going to oppose him either. Dean was the only potential glitch in Rezzy's plans. The boy wouldn't let his brother go without a fight; the threat had to be neutralized.

As Rezzy set about cleaning and sharpening his weapons of choice, he let his mind wander to the last time he had seen Sammy. Palo Alto, California. Sammy's 22nd birthday.

_Rezzy hadn't planned on waiting so long to claim Sammy. In 2001, he had tracked the Winchesters through the eastern states for nearly two months. When he finally caught up to the hunters, Sammy was missing. Rezzy had a few heart-pounding moments wondering if perhaps Sammy had been killed, but an overheard discussion regarding the object of his obsession revealed that the youngest Winchester had received a full scholarship to Stanford University. Rezzy was a little disappointed, but Samantha had been working her way through college when they met. He decided to allow Sammy the same opportunity. He only wanted Sammy's happiness._

_Rezzy had stopped by the campus off and on over the last few years, but he had never approached the boy directly. He was content for now to watch his Sammy blossom from an awkward, gangly teen into a graceful, sensual man. And tall! Sammy had really shot up. He would never reach Rezzy's height, but the youngster was now taller than Samantha had been._

_Now, Rezzy decided that Sammy's time at Stanford was at an end. Rezzy watched as Sammy made his way from the campus bookstore to the law school building. As usual, his attention was centered on the open book in his hands._

_Rezzy re-checked the tools sitting next to him in the car: cuffs, ball gag, tranquilizer pistol. He would be ecstatic if he didn't need them, but he wasn't going to take a chance with something so important. He picked up the items and placed them into his jacket. Rezzy would take Sammy as the boy passed the south corner of the building. There were some convenient shadows from which he could approach._

_As Rezzy was exiting the car, he heard the low rumble of an engine - a sound as recognizable now as it had been ten years ago. He re-entered the car, shut the door, and hunched down in his seat as the Impala passed by. Unfortunately for Rezzy, the car parked only a few spaces away but he was sheltered from Dean's view by a van. Moments later, John's black truck pulled up beside the Impala. The elder Winchesters looked like they were going to stay for a while, so he had been forced to leave without his Sammy._

He was confident that John would follow through on his promise, but, like that night in California, Rezzy wasn't about to take any chances. In a few days Sammy would belong to him completely, and John and Dean Winchester would be dead.

* * *

A/N: Please feel free to send me a review! 

FastFuriousChick - Thanks for the mental image. I hope someone with more talent than I gives us some NakedFighting. Maybe this could be a Challenge?

Liana-chan - Well, Dean's getting closer, but no cigar yet. Hang in there!

Insomniac-Angel - Thanks for the kind words. And you're right. In the next few chapters, I hope to have everyone thoroughly pissed off at John. Which is weird because I really like the character. Oh, well. We hurt the ones we love, which means I must be head over heels for Sammy!

Thanks to all my other reviewers. You really make the writing go much easier.


	10. Chapter 10

The Bringer – 10

Okay, this was the never ending chapter. I had wanted to get into some _Bringer_ lore, but too many other things had to take place first. It also took forever to post, and I finally resorted to sending it as a text file rather than a Word document. Hope the site fixes that soon.

There's a lot of Sammy crying in this chapter, but it's necessary. I'm not making him into a baby, but if you had been through what this boy has been through, then a drop or two of saline escaping from the eye area should be excused.

Be warned – there is some seriously schmoopy stuff at the end and shocking OOCness for Dean, but dammit, Sammy needed some tenderness, and I wanted to be the one to vicariously give it to him.

Thanks to all who reviewed, and I would love to hear more (hint, hint, hint). I hope to get another chapter out before Friday, so stay tuned!

Enjoy!

* * *

The Fouke was tentative as it approached its prey. It was wriggling, but it wasn't trying to run. Was it trying to lure him in? Was it sickly, or perhaps poisonous? Best to kill it quickly and return to its den. 

The air was filled with a litany of _shitshitshitshit_ as the monster approached Sam, whose efforts to free himself had failed miserably. The shackles dug into his wrists and ankle, and blood wept from beneath the harsh metal. Remembering that fear had fueled his last bout of telekinesis, Sam attempted to use his emotions to push the monster away. His body trembled with effort and sweat poured from his skin, but the monster was unaffected.

The Fouke clambered on top of the prey but was thrust backward when the prey bent its leg and pushed its foot against the Fouke's chest. Angry, the Fouke sliced the leg causing the prey to retract its injured limb. The Fouke regained its position on top of Sam and began to slash.

As the monster cut him to ribbons, Sam didn't bother holding in his feelings. What did it matter? Dean couldn't save him and he couldn't save himself, so Sam released his carefully pent up emotions in long, jagged screams of anger, pain, hatred, and fear.

At the apex of Sam's latest cry of soul-felt agony, his voice was drowned out by the report of a handgun fired at close range. Blood, brains, and bits of bone splattered into and onto Sam as the Fouke's head disappeared in an explosion of gore. The monster's body slumped forward onto Sam, resulting in a renewed bout of screams, this time tinged with disgust.

* * *

The monster had surprised him, and NewDean nearly broke his neck upon impact with the ground. Lucky for him, this area was near the swamp so the ground was a little spongy. He'd had the wind knocked out of him and was considering the best way to move without his insides switching places with his outsides when he heard The Sounds.

The shifter part of him just heard screaming; the Dean Winchester part, however, recognized those screams as his Sammy in mortal danger. The Sounds would not be ignored and whatever was forcing those noises from Sammy had to die…or die again, whatever the case may be. The shifter felt possessed. Could he even be possessed while in another's skin? He didn't know, but it sure felt like he was possessed.

Of its own accord, or so it seemed, the shifter's body rose from where it had fallen, retrieved the gun from the pile of his discarded clothes, turned, and fired. His steady gaze met Sam's, distorted slightly by the heat and smoke rising from the gun muzzle at the end of his outstretched arm.

Sam blinked through the blood and saw the face of Dean Winchester, eyes alive with hate and not a little madness, looking back at him. Exhausted, in pain, and emotionally numbed, Sam allowed the darkness to take him.

"Sammy!" NewDean hurried to the younger man's side and checked for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief as the beat of life thumped beneath his fingers. He quickly examined Sammy's injuries. Several of the cuts needed stitches and all needed disinfecting. He was particularly concerned about the set of claw punctures on Sammy's left side just below the ribs.

Heedless of his own nudity, NewDean grabbed the first aid kit from the car and worked at dressing the worst of Sammy's injuries. Before releasing the chains, NewDean injected Sammy with a mild sedative. It could be dangerous if Sammy were to wake up before the threat the youngster posed could be contained.

When Sammy was safely tucked into the back of the Impala, the shifter quickly dressed and gathered the scattered equipment. He would have stayed to burn the Fouke's body, but what the hell. Sammy came first, and the strange corpse would give the locals a little thrill.

NewDean drove about twenty minutes and found a small hotel, the Wailing Well Inn, on the outskirts of Texarkana, Texas. He moved Sammy into the room and the ever-present handcuffs secured the unconscious man to the king-size bed. The shifter's hands were quick and sure as they stitched the largest cuts and cleaned the various wounds. Only when he was finished with his ministrations did Sammy wake up.

And Sammy woke up screaming.

_He had been injured fighting the alligator when it had taken his mate. Now, his hearing was excruciatingly acute so any unnatural noise stabbed into his brain. The shrill cries coming from the nearby farmhouse were driving him into a killing frenzy. He climbed to the second story and leapt into the open window. The wails increased in pitch as he stood over the crib. A quick movement of his hands and the wails became gurgles, and then all was silence. Not one to turn away an easy meal, he feasted on the tender flesh._

As one vision of the life of the Fouke Monster dissipated, another took its place. Then another. Then another.

It took NewDean almost an hour to retrieve Sammy from the thread of visions. He suffered a painful bite when he tried to muffle Sammy's screams but finally gave up when it seemed that no one was complaining to the motel manager.

When Sammy finally came to awareness, he had had enough. Sam was breaking under the strain of the horrific visions of murder and flesh-eating on the part of the Fouke. He begged for his brother.

"Dean. I want Dean." His mantra repeated itself over and over and hysteria began to creep into his voice.

"Sammy, baby brother, I'm here. I'm right here. Open your eyes. Just open your eyes and see me!" NewDean couldn't get Sammy to so much as acknowledge his presence. He just kept repeating his call for his big brother.

New Dean began to pace, his steps unconsciously keeping time with Sammy's request. He was losing his patience. Not with Sammy, though; the boy couldn't help it. It's just that everything with the Fouke was so fucked up. Why didn't he, or rather OldDean, know that Sammy's _shining_ would react so explosively with Fouke blood? The irrationality of the thought didn't faze him as he pulled out Sammy's cell and hit the speed dial. It picked up in the middle of the first ring.

"It's me"

* * *

Frustration was fast becoming Dean Winchester's closest companion. It had followed him for weeks as he had been forced to follow another's bidding. It had hounded him on the way to Sam's last known location as he pushed the Bug to and past its limits. It now seeped into his soul as he stood over the smoldering corpse of the swamp monster he had found in the clearing. 

The monster had its head blown off, suggesting rounds fired at close range. The monster also had blood on its claws. If the blood had belonged to the shifter, Dean knew the Fouke wouldn't be the only corpse he'd be burning. Sam would have killed the monster; then he would have killed the Fouke and the Winchester brothers would be roasting marshmallows right now. Therefore, the blood on the creature's claws did not belong to the shifter. Which meant…the blood was Sam's.

The sun had set by the time Dean finished disposing of the Fouke. He returned to the Bug and pulled out the map Candy had given him. He scoured the map and his memory for a likely place the shifter would take an injured Sam. There were two or three hospitals within a half-hour drive from here, but there were probably a hundred little motels. It all depended on how badly Sam was hurt.

Dean pulled out his cell to start calling around when the phone rang. The caller ID said Sam. His finger couldn't hit the button fast enough.

"It's me."

Dean was prepared for some taunts about how he still didn't have Sam. He was ready for some disturbing scenes of rape to be sent to his mailbox. He was even kind of hoping to hear Sam's snarky voice saying that the shifter was dead and where did Dean want to be picked up? Dean didn't expect to be lambasted by a furious version of himself.

"You miserable son of a bitch! This is all your fault. If you were half the hunter you claim to be, you would have known and this wouldn't be happening!" The voice continued on but Dean's attention was grabbed by small sounds in the background. It was Sam. He was calling for Dean.

The shifter continued his tirade, accusing Dean of deliberately hiding the knowledge of a Fouke monster's affects on psychics, of being responsible for Sam's injuries, and for never being around when his brother needed him. That accusation was the last straw for Dean.

Dean and the shifter traded shouts and insults while Sam's cries for Dean continued to build in intensity until both older men were forced to stop their bickering and listen.

Sam's breath was catching in his throat and panic was setting in. The pressure of holding back around the shifter, the humiliation and degradation he felt at each touch by the other, had finally broken through his walls and he could not stop the tears that now coursed down his cheeks.

The shifter was caught. His love for Sammy and his desire to give Sammy whatever he wanted warred with his hatred for OldDean and the hold he still had over the boy.

Dean was caught. He wanted so much to scream and rail against the evil bastard who insisted on keeping his brother from him especially when the younger man so obviously needed him but shouting and loud noises would not calm Sam in the state he had worked himself into.

The shifter lay on the bed next to Sammy and set the phone next to the pillow. The boy jerked away from the nearness and had to be pulled back onto the bed.

In as soothing a voice as he could muster, the shifter said, "Sammy, please. Stop fighting. You're gonna open those stitches. You've got to calm down now, okay?"

Sammy wasn't having it. He struggled against the shifter's hands and said, "You're NOT my brother! You're not Dean, and you couldn't be him in a million years! My Dean would never do this to me."

Sam's accusations were becoming garbled as emotion choked him causing further strain. Something had to give, and that something was Dean.

From the cell phone, a soft melody emerged. It was an old song, little Sammy's favorite song. It was his favorite because his big brother Dean had told him that their mother used to sing it to both of them when they were babies. When Mary Winchester died, lullaby duties became Dean's responsibility.

_Baby mine, don't you cry_

_Baby mine, dry your eyes_

_Rest your head close to my heart_

_Never to part_

_Baby of Mine_

_Little one, when you play_

_Don't you mind what they say_

_Let those eyes sparkle and shine_

_Never a tear_

_Baby of Mine_

_If they knew sweet little you_

_They'd end up loving you too_

_And those same people who scold you_

_What they'd give for just the right to hold you_

_From your head to your toes_

_You're so sweet goodness knows_

_You are so precious to me_

_Cute as can be_

_Baby of Mine_

During the song, Sammy's tears dried and his breathing eased. He drifted off to the sound, a sound he hadn't heard in more than eighteen years, of his brother singing him to sleep.

When the song was over and Sammy was at peace, the shifter picked up the cell phone and whispered, "Thank you," before hanging up. He kissed Sammy's temple and settled down to sleep.

Dean, his own tears threatening, closed his own cell and whispered to the darkness, "Goodnight Sammy."

* * *

_"Baby Mine" Lyrics by Ned Washington. From Walt Disney's "Dumbo", 1941_


	11. Chapter 11

The Bringer – 11

This chapter goes out to valkyrie-alex. She has promised me a sneak peek at the next chapter of what I consider to be the best piece of fan fiction out there, _Through a Glass, Darkly,_ in the Static Shock fandom. With that kind of carrot, I had to post this stick early.

Thank you all for your reviews of the last chapter. I cried when I thought of the scene, and I cried again when I wrote it. I think the boys are done with tears for at least the next two chapters. Well, sad tears anyway. There are a lot of different kinds, you know? Happy tears... Angry tears... Pain-filled tears…..

Enjoy this little tidbit, and I will have more soon. Especially if I get snowed in tomorrow!

* * *

Sam woke the next morning with a pounding headache and a stuffed up nose. He could feel the crust of sleep in his eyes but couldn't rub it away. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," greeted NewDean. Without raising his eyes from the laptop, he tossed the handcuff keys into Sam's hands.

"Get cleaned up and get dressed. I'm hungry, and there's something here I think we should check out."

Sam complied. Apparently the shifter wasn't going to bring up yesterday's defiance and that whole meltdown thing, which was fine by Sam. As the young man scrubbed at the dried blood and other effluvia streaked on his body, being careful not to wet his new stitches, he found himself humming a tune only half-remembered. He vowed that when Dean finally found him, Sam would not tease him about the lullaby. It was an act of desperation and of love. It was the act of a big brother, performed only to ease Sam's pain.

No Sam wouldn't tease Dean.

Not unless a really excellent opportunity presented itself.

* * *

Later in the diner, the shifter's Dean-reflexes had him smiling at the red-haired waitress who was quick to blush. When she left with their orders, NewDean grinned at Sammy and said, "I've still got it!" 

"You never had it," replied Sam as he examined the new hunt the shifter had found. "It's not yours."

"Whatever, Sammy. You really need to lighten up."

Sam turned incredulous eyes on the shifter. "Lighten up?! I've been kidnapped, threatened, molested. I'm being held prisoner by a monster. Now you shove this Wailing Well thing in my face, and you tell me to lighten up? On top of all that, I have to decide if you're serious about hunting because if you are, we may be able to save people but if you're not, I don't know what the hell you're doing this for!"

"Breathe, Sammy," NewDean mocked. "And you're wrong. You're not a prisoner." He gestured toward the entrance. "There's the door. Just stand up and walk away. I won't stop you."

The tinkling of the little brass bell over the door teased Sam with its call to freedom.

The shifter continued its taunting. "Go on, Sammy. Your panties aren't nailed to my bed."

At Sam's angry snort, the shifter chuckled, "OK, so technically you're chained to my bed at night, but that's only because I don't want to wake up with my throat cut. You can go across the street and catch the next bus out of here. I'll even give you the money for a ticket."

"I can't, and you know it," said Sam. "I could walk away now, sure. But I know that I'll turn on the news tonight, and all I'll see are child-sized body bags and my brother's face on the security videos."

The smirk on the handsome face across the table was achingly familiar to Sam. NewDean hunched forward and reached for Sammy's hand, clasping it tightly between his own.

"Do you really want to know why I'm doing this? It's because I love you."

"Bullshit," said Sammy as he jerked his hand away.

"It's true, Sammy. I do love you, and I want you to be happy. Give me a chance here! Let me prove it to you."

"Fine," said Sam. "Die."

"Huh?"

Sam locked eyes with his enemy as he spoke. "You say you love me. You say you want me to be happy. The only way to make that happen is for you to drop dead. Then I'd be happy. Hell, I'd throw a fucking party!"

NewDean didn't know which shocked him more – the request, the language, or the venom behind it. Sammy, his sweet little Sammy, actually _hated_ him.

The conversation stalled as their food was brought to the table. Neither spoke again until they were back at their motel room. As he unlocked the door, Sam broke the silence and whispered, "If you loved me, you'd die for me."

The shifter didn't reply.

He was too busy trying to remember why he hadn't worn his gun this morning. If he had, he would have been able to shoot the apparition before it grabbed Sammy, dragged him into the room, and slammed the door hard enough to crack the frame.

* * *

Dang. I'm mean. Please review _(wibbles)!_


	12. Chapter 12

The Bringer - 12

Whew! Another marathon chapter. I'm cooking now! I wish I could write my school papers as quickly as this story is developing.

Some language and a wee bit of the sex in this chapter.

I love the reviews – please keep them coming!

* * *

_Dean Winchester was dreaming. He could feel the dreamy quality, so he knew it wasn't real. However, it had the same feel as the weird vision-thing he'd had of the hot guy rubbing oil onto Sammy. Dean didn't think he'd be seeing anything as peaceful as that had been._

_He was walking down a deserted street at the edge of a deserted town. There were no lights in the houses or shops lining the street; no people or animals made themselves known through either motion or sound. There weren't even any bugs, which was weird since it was a warm summer night._

_He picked up a low, rhythmic sound and tracked it through town. As he approached an old cemetery, the sound clarified itself as chanting._

_'Bringer.'_

_The name was repeated over and over again. __The chanting throng was gathered in a ring in the middle of the graveyard. He made his way to the edge of the circle. What he saw forced the very air from his chest._

_Sammy._

_His little brother was lying nude on a large marble slab._

_What's with all the naked Sammy dreams, lately? And not the good ones, either._

_Dean could see Sam struggling to rise, but the young man was being forcibly held in place although there were no visible restraints._

_'Telekinesis...' _

_The word whispered into his mind. Dean shook his head; he wasn't sure where that thought came from, but it would explain Sammy's paralysis. Dean watched with mounting fear as blood seeped from beneath Sammy's body._

_Dean could sense more than see shapes, entities, surrounding Sam. The chanting increased in both pace and volume. Something in the dreamscape prevented Dean from moving to his brother's side. He was forced to watch as a deadly ballet took place between the shapes. One would dart toward Sammy's defenseless body and another would block the path only to attempt to invade Sammy itself._

_As the chanting reached a crescendo, one shape managed to evade the others and plunged into Sammy's chest. Dean struggled to reach his baby brother; he could see the pain and terror in Sam's eyes, but Dean was unable to break free from his own invisible bonds._

_Sam's eyes closed and he seemed to relax. The youngest Winchester's body seized once, twice, then stilled._

_The chanting ceased at the same moment Sam's eyes reopened. The beloved puppy-brown eyes were now blood red. Sam's body rose smoothly from the slab. His back ran bloody with impressions of the raised runes and sigils on the marble. The possessed man's arms opened wide, and the throng prostrated themselves._

_All but three. Two were holding a third between them. Dean recognized the third man._

_Dad._

_The two guards dragged John Winchester forward and forced him to his knees before Sam. Words issued from Sam's mouth in an ancient language painful to hear. Blood began to trickle from John's ears, but the hunter refused to voice his agony._

_Sam's vocal torture stopped, and the red-eyed gaze focused on Dean._

"_Do you love me?" It was his Sammy's voice once again._

_The response spilled from Dean without hesitation, "Yes."_

"_Would you die for me?"_

"_Duh," said Dean, snorting at Sam's stupid question. How many times had he risked life and limb for the boy? Most of the scars on Dean's body were awarded in the line of duty – protecting Sammy. Dean wore those marks proudly. They declared to the world his love for Sam._

_Sam smiled and moved closer to Dean. "Would you kill for me?"_

_Again, Dean's response was near-instantaneous. "I already have."_

_Sam shook his head and said, "Not the supernatural. Not raw heads or poltergeists or werewolves. Would you kill a human being because I asked you to?"_

_For the third time, Dean didn't even have to think about his answer. "No."_

_Sam seemed surprised, but before he could ask, Dean clarified, _"_No, I wouldn't kill someone because you asked me to. But I would kill anyone or anything that threatened you or hurt you."_

_Sam gave Dean a dimpled smile; the smile even reached those awful eyes._

"_That's all I needed to know." One of John's guards handed Dean a knife. It was a beautiful piece of metalwork. There was an energy to it, an energy that a lot of blessed weapons held, but this was different. Nothing holy had blessed this blade._

_Sam's next words replaced Dean's confusion with a sickening mixture of hate and lust._

"_Know this, Dean. Dad raped me. He held me down and fucked me. He hurt me. Kill him, Dean. I was saving myself for you. Kill him for taking what should have been yours. Kill John Winchester, and I will belong to you. We can be together forever."_

_The knife felt alive in his hand as he stood before his father. He felt unadulterated hate for this man who had hurt his Sammy. Dean spat into John's face. No one hurt Sam and got away with it. He moved behind the kneeling man._

_With a tight grip in his father's hair, Dean yanked John's head back, exposing the throat. Dean looked up at Sammy. His brother was beautiful, and his body glowed in the moonlight. Sam's arousal at the scene was obvious. The young man was touching himself and staring into Dean's eyes. As Dean nonchalantly slit John's throat, Sam orgasmed._

_Dean stepped over his father's twitching body and dropped to his knees before Sam. He lapped gently at his brother's stomach and licked clean Sam's softening cock. He looked up into Sammy's face._

"_Bringer…"_

* * *

Dean woke with a jolt and nearly gave himself a concussion as his head smacked into the roof of the Bug. 

_What the fuck was that? And why was that word – Bringer - so familiar?_

Dean shuffled through the messenger bag and pulled out his father's journal. He vaguely remembered something about a prophecy his dad had written about. They usually didn't pay much attention to those found in so-called magik books. Most were crap, but some of the spellbooks held actual workings or spells close enough to cause some damage if done correctly. That little bit of accuracy had necessitated each of the Winchesters actually reading the damned things.

His page-turning stopped as he found what he was looking for. John had jotted down bits and pieces of the prophecy but obviously never connected it to his youngest son. Of course, John didn't know about Sam's visions, so the Bringer having "knowledge of all times" would not have rung a bell. However, the part about fire and being blessed by mother's blood, well that was just Sammy all over, which was probably why John took the time to put it in the journal in the first place.

Dean needed to get his hands on a Necronomicon.

* * *

The apparition threw Sam into another wall. Bits of plaster trickled from the ceiling to land gently in Sam's hair as he lay panting on the floor. That toss had broken some of his stitches and now blood was oozing from beneath his bandages. He levered himself from the floor with the groan of a much older man. 

The door shattered beneath a well-placed boot, and Dean burst in.

_No. Not Dean. Not his brother. The shifter._

Sam could see the shifter had made a brief stop at the trunk of the Impala. The shifter was loaded for bear, uh, poltergeists. As much as Sam hated to admit it, he was actually glad to see his captor. He didn't have any weapons or rock salt with which to fight the entity and strong language didn't appear to be working.

"All right you little bitch! You fuck with my brother you fuck with me, and nobody fucks my brother but me!"

Sam couldn't help but laugh at the nonsensical, debauched, yet strangely Dean-esque comment. The laugh was choked off as he felt invisible hands wrap around his throat and press.

"Sammy!"

NewDean felt his own breath catch as Sammy was lifted from the floor and pinned to the wall by an invisible force. Sweat trickled down NewDean's back and his hands trembled slightly as he tossed the shotgun on the bed and reached for his secret weapon.

He had thought of this, rather, OldDean had thought of it, after Sammy's near miss in Lawrence. What do you do if you can't shoot a spirit, you want to get away to regroup, and you don't have time to do a proper banishing?

Blow shit up. Ergo, his homemade hand grenade.

Of course, he wasn't actually going to explode a grenade with Sammy unprotected. This was a special piece of ordnance. Instead of shrapnel or phosphorus, the guts of this little beauty contained a mixture of sage, dragon's blood resin, and sandalwood. With the help of a small explosive charge, it would burn the contents and spread a cloud throughout the room. No poltergeist would stick around until the cloud died down. The only drawback was he had never had an opportunity to test it.

Until now.

It worked like a charm. Unfortunately, he forgot to tell Sammy what he had planned. All the poor kid saw was NewDean chucking a hand grenade at him. It startled Sammy so much that when the entity released him, Sammy took a great gulping lungful of the sage-filled cloud. His body's reaction to the cloud and near-strangling plunged Sammy into unconsciousness. NewDean grabbed Sammy in a fireman's hold and carried him from the smoky room.

NewDean was expecting gawkers; there were always a few at these things. But to his surprise, there was no one trying to peer inside or frantically dialing the police. Happy about that, but on edge at the continued strangeness of this little inn, New Dean put Sammy in the car and drove to a new motel a few miles down the road. He marked the inn on a map he found in the glove compartment. After Sam was settled into their relationship, they would come back and kick that thing's ass.

First things first. Take care of Sammy.

He was starting to feel bad about having to keep Sammy chained when they were in their room, but after the kid's outburst this morning he knew Sammy wasn't ready to be trusted completely. He undressed Sammy before securing the cuffs to the rails.

NewDean got out the first aid kit. The way they were going, he'd need to restock before they left town. He applied some salve to Sammy's newest bruises and re-stitched the cuts that had been separated during the run-in with the apparition. He was glad Sammy was still out of it. It was a painful procedure. He let his thoughts wander while he finished bandaging his brother.

NewDean had given a lot of thought to his feelings for Sammy, Sammy's feelings for him, and the challenge he faced in obtaining Sammy's love. How do you prove love? How do you prove the desire to make someone happy? He had an idea, but it would either make Sammy love him, or it would rip them apart.

He gathered the summoning supplies he would need. A prick of his finger, and he had the blood he needed to draw the circle. Candles and incense were lit. When all was ready, NewDean sat cross-legged in the center of the circle, calmed his mind, and called for his god.

"Plei'dot, your Follower begs your guidance."

With a flickering of the candles and the scent of wormwood, the god of shapeshifters answered his child's call.

* * *

Sam woke slowly from his latest set of injuries to see the shifter sitting on the second bed of a new motel room. Confusion warred with fear as he saw the knife in the other man's hand. 

NewDean kept his eyes on the knife in his hands as he asked, "Could you ever love me, Sammy?"

Sam couldn't lie about this – wouldn't lie about it.

"No."

Sam had to trust that part of the shifter that was Dean Winchester. Dean and he might have fought growing up and might have periodically bruised and bloodied one another, but Sam never, ever doubted Dean's love for him. Sam was counting on that to see him through the next few minutes.

NewDean's sigh seemed to echo around the room. Sam used his bound arms as leverage to raise himself to a sitting position. This vantage point allowed him to see the pentagram of salt and the symbols drawn on the floor.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

Sam looked again at the symbols. He recognized most but others were a mystery. Of those he knew, the symbols for Eros and Cacoëthes stood out.

"A force spell. You're doing a working to compel love." Sam tried to calm his pounding heart. These things were dangerous and if it worked…God. He'd actually believe he was in love with this monster.

"Dean, you can't do this."

"You _will_ love me Sammy. I know it."

"But Dean," started Sam, "you suck at magiks. That memory spell you tried to work on the neighbors when you were eleven?"

Sam could almost see the shifter download the event. NewDean smiled.

"Yeah. Dad really busted my ass for that one."

"Dean. Please don't do this."

NewDean refused to look Sammy in the eye. Those puppy eyes would be out in full force, and this was already taking every ounce of his courage. Plei'dot had told him that Sammy was the one, and that he was already twice-bound to OldDean. NewDean would need something special to win Sammy for his own.

"Dean," continued Sam, "your symbols. Something's not right." Sam gestured as best he could with his cuffed hands. "That one, closest to the sigil for compulsion. It's for sacrifice."

At this exposure to the depth of Sammy's knowledge, NewDean had to face the young man.

_Did he understand what NewDean was doing? Did he understand the power that was about to be released in this very room?_

"I know, Sammy. Don't worry. I've taken care of everything."

With those words, the shifter moved to Sam's side, gripped the frightened boy by the hair, and raised the newly sharpened knife.

* * *

I know some of you are getting impatient for Sam and Dean's reunion and there's that whole other John and Rezzy thing lurking in the background. The next chapter should start to bring everything together. Or not. 

Please review!


	13. Chapter 13

The Bringer – 13

Sorry for the delay. I just finished the next-to-the last class in my grad program. One more to go and I am done, done, done! Thankfully, I don't have to start until the first of the year, so I hope I will be able to finish this before then. Woo-hoo!

How about a read and review from everyone?

* * *

As the knife neared Sammy, NewDean felt his hand begin to tremble. He couldn't do this. Not yet. Not until he had tasted Sammy once more, because if this didn't work he knew he could never touch Sammy again. 

Sam flinched when the shifter flung the knife so forcefully that it embedded itself in the wall above the bed. The shifter pushed him flat onto the bed with one hand and stripped with the other. All the while, the shifter was rubbing and kissing Sam's face and neck. Sam listened to the confusing words and phrases flowing from the shifter's mouth.

_Please._

_Once more. Just once more._

_Love you, Sammy._

Sam resigned himself to another rape and tried to relax to prevent further injury to his battered body. The shifter had other plans.

"Fight me, Sammy. Fight back." NewDean wanted this. He wanted Sammy to mark him so that his body would carry the evidence of their coupling for days to come.

Sam fought furiously. He wriggled like a game fish and tried to buck off the man abusing him. He managed to work a leg between the shifters' and brought his knee up in a sharp movement.

NewDean felt the muscles tense in Sammy's abdomen, so he was able to shift aside in time to avoid a debilitating blow. His movement, however, did free up Sammy's leg. NewDean's mistake brought back to painful reality just exactly how long Sammy's legs were and how very flexible the younger man was.

Sammy's knee caught NewDean in the left temple and made him see stars. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. As the ringing in his head died down, he noticed that Sammy had stopped struggling. He gazed down into that beloved face. At first, NewDean barely noticed his own head wound. All he could see was the look of abject horror in Sammy's eyes as drop after bright red drop spattered onto the young man's forehead.

Sam couldn't remember how to breathe as he felt the screams building, clawing their way from chest to throat as his ultimate fear played out before his eyes. His hero, his big brother, his _Dean_, was above him. Bleeding onto him. Sam just knew the fire was coming next. It would explode out around Dean like a hellish halo and would destroy the greatest part of Sam's heart. The fire would take Dean just like it took his mother and to a lesser extent his father. Sam would be left alone with his nightmares.

To his credit, NewDean took only a heartbeat to understand Sammy's emotional pain. He used his discarded T-shirt to wipe the blood from Sammy's face and from his own. He ceased his attempt to make love to Sammy and lay beside him instead. He was touched as Sammy turned his head to keep him in sight. The shifter used OldDean's gentle big-brother voice and soft, soothing touches to calm the fear-filled boy. It took time, but eventually Sammy stopped staring at him as if he were going to disappear in flames the moment his concentration faltered. Soon, Sammy's breathing eased, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Though he was loath to break the comfortable stillness, the shifter knew he had to finish the spell before sunrise. Besides, it would be easier on NewDean if Sammy were asleep while he performed the ritual. NewDean slipped from the bed and retrieved the knife. He gently sliced a small thatch of hair from Sammy's nape. The shifter returned to the spell circle and began the ritual.

NewDean knew what Sammy had feared when he had asked about the magik spell. Sammy was afraid that the shifter was going to compel his love. He wanted Sammy to love him, yes, but he knew now that the kind of love he wanted from Sammy could only be given, never taken or coerced. That was the lesson he had learned from the gentle spirit that was Sam Winchester. He wanted to make amends. He wanted to make Sammy happy.

NewDean understood that Sammy's happiness would likely be purchased at the cost of his own. As right as this decision was, the shifter knew he wasn't strong enough to relinquish the only bright spot in his black universe. That was why he needed the power of Plei'dot, and Plei'dot demanded a sacrifice.

The sacrifice wasn't Sammy's to make. It was NewDean's. He currently possessed only two things of value: Sammy, and his ability to shift skins. There was no real choice. He would sacrifice his power in exchange for the strength to let Sammy go.

* * *

Sam awoke feeling like crap. He hadn't had any truly restful sleep in a long time. He was either thinking late into the night, trying to ignore the smell and feel of the shifter holding him close, or he had been rendered unconscious by one creature or another. Sam stretched as far as his injuries would allow. It took several seconds and him sitting upright to realize that he was no longer bound to the bed and that the shifter was nowhere in sight. 

Quickly, he dressed in last night's discarded clothing, grimacing at the mixed odors of blood and sage. Sam's eyes landed on the bedside phone. Should he try to call Dean? What if the shifter came back? It has vowed retribution against innocents if Sam tried to call for help. The decision was taken from his hands as the front door opened and the shifter walked in.

"Hey, Sammy! Little help here." The shifter kicked the door closed with his foot and almost lost his grip on the cups wedged under his chin and the bags in his arms. The enticing aromas made Sam's stomach growl, and he realized how hungry he was. Still uncertain, but feeling some of his battered confidence return with his new-found freedom, Sam approached the shifter and took the drinks. He stepped back and allowed the shifter to move deeper into the room. Now, Sam was the one closest to the door. His unfettered state and the shifter's perplexing actions made Sam jumpy.

_What was it waiting for? Was it waiting for him to make a break for it? What would it do?_

"Come on, Sammy. Sit down; have breakfast. We've got some things to talk about." The shifter flashed his most charming Dean-smile, which Sam wasn't buying for a second, but he did take a seat at the small table. He almost hoped the shifter would try something. Sam was itching for payback.

"I know you're not feeling so hot this morning. You had a rough few days and then last night…"

The shifter trailed off. Sam was strangely appreciative for its compassion. He had no wish to recall the nightmare in more vivid detail. It would return to him the next time he slept. That would be soon enough. Sam accepted the hot tea the shifter pushed towards him and took a quick gulp, then another. The sweet, spicy liquid spread warmth through his body and he breathed a sigh of contentment. Sam wondered at his calmness while sitting next to his enemy.

A terrifying thought crept into his mind, and he glanced toward the spell circle. Sam felt the sweat start popping out on his body and his formerly calm breathing took on a more rapid pace. The candles had been burned, and, was that hair? Sam felt his own untidy mop and located the patch of missing hair.

_Oh, God. The shifter had done it. It had worked a compulsion spell. Was that why he hadn't decked the shifter the moment it came in and took off running out the door? Was that why he had awoken a free man?_

Sam gulped around the lump forming in his throat and asked, "What happened after I went to sleep last night?"

NewDean sighed. He had hoped this conversation could wait until after breakfast. His time with Sammy was coming to an end, and he wanted to prolong every moment. He started to explain the particulars of the ritual, but stopped when he noticed Sammy wasn't paying attention. The young man was staring intently at his cup.

"Sammy? What's wrong? Is it a vision?"

"Dean," asked Sam in a small voice, "What kind of tea is this?"

"Chai. It's your favorite, right?"

Sam could feel the numbness in his lips begin to transfer itself to the rest of his face and throat. He stood abruptly and sent the chair toppling behind him. Sam was panting faster and faster, and his hands grabbed the lapels of the jacket the shifter was wearing.

"Cardamom, Dean! Cardamom!"

With that, Sam collapsed in the shifter's arms.

* * *

Up next, Dean and a phone call from John. 

Please review!


	14. Chapter 14

The Bringer – 14

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Here is something to tide you over until the next time.

_

* * *

18 years ago… _

_It was cold. John bundled Dean and Sammy in some old blankets and drove around looking for somewhere to fill their bellies and warm up at the same time. The only place open this late was a small café that served food with names like hummus, tabouleh, and lokma. They were having a good time, making up stories about why certain dishes had the names they did, when the server brought over hot drinks._

"_Boys, this is Chai tea," said John as he passed over the mugs. "Your mother and I used to drink this all the time. It's hot, so be careful."_

_Dean tested the temperature then poured some of his milk into Sammy's cup to cool the tea enough for the four-year-old to drink. The smell was wonderful and reminded Dean strongly of Christmas before Mom died, but the incident last year with Sammy and a possessed mall Santa had broken the Winchesters of most of their Christmas spirit. Dad still bought them each a small gift, but they were things that could be kept in the Impala or used for the hunt. Last year was different, though. Dad had actually been paid for getting rid of a poltergeist, so Dean got some brand new boots and Sammy got a big package of crayons and a coloring book._

_Sammy took a deep breath of the warm spicy scents wafting from the mugs. It smelled so good, but he waited until Dean said it was OK to drink. The little boy grasped his child-size mug carefully and took a big slurpy gulp. The warmth spread quickly and made him feel funny. His dad and Dean chuckled at him as he smacked his lips. Sammy frowned. He wasn't trying to be funny; he just couldn't feel his lips any more. Sammy turned big brown eyes to his brother._

_Dean paused with his mug at his lips. Something was wrong with Sammy._

"_Dad?"_

_Dean's tremulous query brought John's attention back from his memories of tea with Mary. Dean was looking at Sammy who had tears streaming down his flushed face and was gasping for air._

"_Sammy!" John reached across the table and pulled the boy from his booster seat. In the blink of an eye, those little lungs ceased to function._

_Dean didn't remember much after that. A mad race to the hospital. Dad barking orders Dean did his best to follow: 'Quick puffs. Press on his chest right there. Harder, Dean, or we'll lose him!'_

_In some ways, that night was harder on Dean than the night he lost his mother. On that night, he'd had a job to do - take care of Sammy. But this night, his responsibility was lying on a hospital bed hooked up to a ventilator._

_Thankfully, Sammy didn't have to stay in the hospital long. A few days and a few thousand tests later, they discovered that their little one was allergic to cardamom, a spice often used in Asian and mid-Eastern food and drink. Like Chai tea._

_

* * *

_Present day… 

_Just like the tea you bought for him. Why didn't you just shove rat poison down his throat?_ NewDean, seething with self-hatred, sat silently in the corner of the waiting room.

The intern kept an eye on the young man. The kid and his brother had been brought in by ambulance, the younger suffering from a severe allergic reaction. The brother, Sam, had actually stopped breathing during the ride in. Now he watched as the silent blond began to bang his head against the wall while he waited for news. The fledling doctor was ready with a suture kit when the blood started to flow.

"Hey. My name's Kyle. It'll probably be a few more minutes before we get news about your brother. Why don't you let me stitch up that cut before you go in to see him?" Kyle kept up the soft tones and gentle touches he normally saved for his youngest patients. Though the head wound was small, he could tell the young man before him was traumatized. He was able to maneuver Mr. Winchester into an empty exam room.

A few minutes later, Kyle declared, "All done," and secured the final suture. "Not bad, but it will probably scar."

"Chicks dig scars," replied his patient in a monotone.

Kyle gave a small smile and said, "You can go on back to the waiting room. I'll go check on your brother and bring you an update."

When the doctor left the room, NewDean checked Kyle's handiwork. It would be the first scar he couldn't skin his way out of, and he was pleased that Sammy's mark was permanent. Rather than returning to the waiting room, NewDean sneaked out to the parking lot. He needed to make a phone call.

* * *

Huh. Who knew the Texarkana Public Library would have a real Necronomicon on its shelves? Dean hadn't intended on geeking out in the middle of his search for Sam and the shifter, but the library was right next to this weird little inn where he had picked up an actual trail.

Dean had fended off the angry manager, a little old lady, who was upset over a smoking motel room. When she had stopped poking him with her knitting needles, he explained that the culprit was actually his twin brother, a frustrated musician who was roaming the countryside trashing rooms in fits of artistic pique. And yes, he agreed that the pretty brunette who was with him could certainly do much better than an aging rock and roller.

_Aging? Near-sighted old bag._

Anyway, Grandma suggested he check another motel a few miles down the road, where he hit pay dirt. There she was; his beautiful baby. Oh, how he had missed her! Dean wanted to leap from the VW and hug her side, but he would wait. He wouldn't let the shifter escape.

Dean pulled into a parking spot a few slots away. He could see the Impala and all of the doors to the rooms on this side of the motel. When the shifter came out, Dean would be ready.

To kill time, Dean pulled out the Necronomicon and began to read. Tables of contents were non-existent in true 'nomicons. It was assumed that if you had the book, you knew how to read it. Dean knew how to read it, and he quickly found the Bringer Prophecy in the middle of the sixteenth chapter.

_Child of fire, twice blessed by mothers' blood, he will have the knowledge of all times. Power enough to break the seal between worlds, he shall be the bringer of light and Great Chaos shall revere him._

Well.

Shit.

Sam sure didn't do anything halfway. Drawing the attention of the Old Ones was never a good thing, but Chaos? That was something you just didn't mess with. It wasn't a bad prophecy, as prophecies go. Sam wasn't going to go psycho or destroy the world. Probably. And the 'bringer of light' part was kind of nice. It was a little creepy that Mom was named because…

Wait. _Twice_ blessed by mothers' blood?

No. Oh, no. Jessica.

She must have been pregnant with Sam's baby when the demon killed her. Sam must not know or he would totally have confided such a devastating loss to Dean.

This posed a new problem. What to tell Sam about the prophecy? Dean could give him the highlights, but Sam's inquisitive mind would want to dig up every last shred of information including the exact wording of the text. Dean didn't think he could stand to watch his baby brother destroy himself with grief over something…someone…he never even had the chance to know.

Fuck. Stupid Texas dust. Now Dean had something in his eye. He would worry about what to tell Sam some other time. Which was when his cell went off. S_am_.

Dean reassured himself that the motel doors remained shut and the Impala was still empty. Check. He answered on the second ring.

"It's me."

"Sammy's hurt."

"I know, bitch. I found the Fouke and the blood. How's Sam?"

"I didn't think you'd be able to track us."

"I'm that good. How is Sam?" Dean was disturbed that the shifter wasn't spilling the details. Previously, he had seemed to enjoy taunting Dean with his personal failures.

"You must be," murmured NewDean. "Look, I wanted to tell you that I was wrong. Back in St. Louis, when I told you that Sammy was mine? I was wrong. He's yours. He belongs with you."

Dean pulled back and stared at the phone as if it were going to spit on him. "What the hell happened? What the fuck did Swamp Thing do to my little brother?!"

"Um, it cut him a little. I stitched him up. That's when the poltergeist attacked…"

"Poltergeist?"

"At the motel. I knew then that I had to let him go, but before I could tell him, I had to call the ambulance."

"Let me get this straight. Sam got cut up by a Fouke then injured by a poltergeist so badly that he had to go to the hospital?"

"No, not the poltergesit. It was the tea."

Dean was confused. Why would tea hurt Sam? Unless it was…

"Chai tea?"

"Yeah." NewDean wasn't surprised that OldDean made the connection so quickly. He wasn't the one who kept almost getting Sammy killed every other day.

Dean was beside himself with fury. This was…this…God, there just wasn't a word for the extent of stupidity the shifter had shown in the handling of Sam. Sam was special; you had to be on your guard the whole time. Nothing could be allowed to escape your notice. Even though he hadn't come across cardamom in more than fifteen years, Dean knew he would recognize the scent immediately. This thing was supposed to be him, to have his memories. This was unforgivable. This was a shifter death sentence.

Through gritted teeth, Dean demanded, "Where. Is. Sam?"

"Waylon Medical Center." NewDean hung up and rubbed the sleeve of his leather jacket over his face. He went back to the waiting room and found Kyle.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm sorry but they're still working on your brother. His doctor will come out and update you as soon as Sam is stabilized."

"I can't wait." NewDean handed Kyle the phone and asked, "Would you please give this to my brother? He'll want it."

NewDean turned on his heel and left. He didn't even look back when the phone began to ring.

Kyle shook his head and returned to his paperwork, the ringing phone in his hand. He glanced at the display.

_Dad_.

* * *

OK, so Shifty departs. Have we seen the last of him? I'll give you a hint - NO! 

John will have some news for the boys that is not exactly news to Dean. Eh-oh!

Dean is on his way to the hospital, but things will not be smooth sailing for our hero when he gets there. Anyone care to guess why?

OK, here is a little challenge. It's late, but what the heck. I mention in this chapter an incident that took place during Christmas that turned the WInchesters off of the whole Santa thing. Write the scene!

Drop me a line. I'd love to hear from someone other than those darned bill collectors.


	15. Chapter 15

The Bringer – 15

* * *

Dean used his spare keys to start the Impala. He almost pulled out his gloves before touching her, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. It wasn't her fault; she had been kidnapped just like Sam. Once Sam was safe, his baby was getting steam–cleaned. 

Still, being in the car again made Dean's skin crawl. He snorted at his own joke. He'd have to tell Sam that one.

Sam.

Squealing tires marked his exit from the motel as well as his entrance into the hospital's parking lot. Dean stalked into the ER, the air practically roiling around him. He failed to notice the patients and family members who got out of his way as well as the sheriff's deputy who eased out of the waiting area and disappeared into one of the exam rooms.

Dean strode to the nurse's station and slapped his palms onto the counter. He saw one of the medical staff raise his head and give him a smile.

_Oookaayyy. Time to turn down the sexy._

"Mr. Winchester! I'm glad you came back. Dr. Winton should be out any minute."

Dean kept his face a mask as he nodded to the young man. The shifter had left Sam here? Unprotected? Oh, that bitch was just piling up the hurty points. Dean debated if he should start opening random rooms looking for Sam or if he should wait. He didn't want to upset Sam but oh, he needed to see his little brother. Needed to touch him and hear his voice. To know that Sam was truly safe and …

Sam's screams echoing down the hall made Dean's decision for him.

* * *

"What have you got, Cathy?" The man in the sheriff's uniform asked quietly. 

"EMTs brought him in. Anaphylactic shock. They got him stabilized. Surprised the hell out of them when they found this."

The doctor pulled back the sheet covering Sam's torso. The bruises, light and deep scratches, and the stitches straining to hold together a particularly deep gash showed clearly against pale skin.

"Damn. What the hell kind of animal makes marks like these?"

The doctor replied, "A human animal. I don't know what tool was used, but those marks weren't made by some wildcat. And Bill? That's not all." She covered Sam and moved away to give them a semblance of privacy.

"When we were cleaning him up, we found evidence of sexual assault. Pretty brutal, and it looks like it's been going on for a while now. We worked up a rape kit with Frank since he was here to pick up Lottie."

Sheriff Drake's objectivity wavered in the face of the pain this injured soul had obviously endured in his short life. This injured soul who looked so like his own son.

"Frank!" The deputy came to stand beside them.

"What do we have on this kid?"

Frank glanced at his notes as he briefed the sheriff on what he had learned.

"Sam Winchester, age 22. On some kind of road trip with his older brother, Dean. The brother was the one who called 911. He rode in with the EMTs. He was in the waiting room for a while, but he's gone now. Dwight's on the look-out in case he comes back."

"What, he left? His brother's been assaulted and the guy just leaves?"

Frank shifted uncomfortably and said, "Jack and BJ were the ones who took the call. All the way in they said this Dean kept apologizing to the kid for hurting him."

The sheriff felt his guts twist at this news. How in the hell would this young man recover? Abused by your own flesh and blood. It was a nightmare. A nightmare in his county.

Again.

"All right. We do this by the book. I want this monster in jail by sundown."

* * *

He could feel strange hands on his body, touching him where no one was supposed to touch without permission. Not that anyone was asking his permission for anything lately. He tried to pull away from the invaders. His efforts were met with an increase in the volume of voices near his head. 

"Can you hear me?" It was a woman's voice. A familiar scent tickled his nose, some kind of shampoo. He thought maybe it was yellow. What was it called? Johnson's? Yeah. No more tears. A sense memory drifted through his mind. A young voice. His? Giggling and yelling, _"No tickle! No tickle, Dean!"_

A tear squeezed itself from the corner of his eye and trailed past his temple to nest in his hair. He blinked his eyes against the glare from the overhead light. A kind-eyed woman, she of the baby shampoo, touched his shoulder gently.

"My name is Dr. Cathy Winton. You're at the Waylon Medical Center. Can you tell me your name?"

"Sam. Sam…" Well, hell. What name were they using today? Where was Dean? Why didn't he… Oh, shit!

Sam leapt from the hospital bed, startling the doctor, nurses, and the officers standing in the treatment room. Together they pushed him back onto the exam table.

"Sam, stop struggling. We're trying to help you. You're only exacerbating your injuries. Please, calm down." When her words did not achieve their goal, Dr. Winton nodded to the nurse near Sam's head. The nurse injected a mild sedative into Sam's IV.

An older man tried to calm him. "Easy, son. You need to lay back and let these folks take care of you. My name is Bill Drake, and I'm the sheriff here in Bowie County." Bill noted the stiffening of the boy's features when he introduced himself.

Sam could feel the sweat popping out all over his body. His various cuts and scratches began to sting, and he could tell his breathing and heart rate had increased even without the tell-tale beeps from the monitors they had hooked onto him. He tried to slide off the table from the other side, but he was blocked by one of the deputies.

"No! I have to go!" Sam started to feel a lethargy spreading through him as he was once again pushed onto the table. "You don't understand!"

"Sam, you're hurt. You need to be here. You need to have a few more tests…"

Sam interrupted the doctor, saying, "What I need is to get out of here. I have to get back to my brother."

He watched as the doctor and sheriff shared a knowing glance. Well, they didn't know squat about the shifter or what he was going to do if Sam didn't get back to him. Would he really take out a school full of children?

Yes. Sam thought he probably would.

As calmly as he could, Sam asked, "Is he here?" No answer was forthcoming. "Is my brother in the waiting room? Tell me!" He fought the sedative and tried to rise from the bed.

Dr. Winton sighed and made a motion to the staff, who slipped padded restraints around Sam's wrists. Cathy couldn't meet the young man's eyes, which filled with tears of betrayal. The sheriff moved closer to the bed and tried to soothe Sam's burgeoning fears.

"You're safe now, Sam. No one will hurt you here. And I'm not gonna let that pervert you call 'brother' hurt you any more either."

The exam room door opened and a deputy entered.

"He's here! Winchester just walked into the ER liked he owned the place."

Sheriff Drake began issuing orders. "Dwight, you stay with Sam. No one gets in here without my or the doc's OK. Frank, call for backup. I do not want this man to get away. Move!"

Sam knew he needed to do something, and fast. If the shifter were caught, he would confess to everything as "Dean Winchester." Probably confess to things they as yet knew nothing about. Then, when the shifter was alone, it would shed Dean's skin, and take on another's. Dean would be a wanted man, and Sam would be plunged into a nightmare of suspicion and fear of everyone he would meet.

Sam was willing to accept that for himself, but he would not allow Dean to be hunted by those he would gladly give his life to protect.

Summoning his strength, Sam did the only thing he could. He opened his mouth and screamed.

"Deeeeaaaaannnnn!"

* * *

Sorry for the delay, folks! I am in the last three weeks of my masters program, and my time is rarely my own. 

Thank you so much to all my reviewers. If you haven't yet reviewed, or if you would like to review again, please hit that little button down at the bottom.

After you finish reviewing (hint! hint!) find valkyrie-alex's story Suffer the Little Children. She's come up with an awesome story that is a Weechester prequel to The Bringer. V-A has allowed me to use some of her images in this story. Those who have read her story know which scene I picked for this chapter.

Thanks again! John still coming soon!


	16. Chapter 16

The Bringer – 16

Some Rezzy here. If you don't know who he is, check out The Parlingua: Rezzy's Story. That will start to become more important as we wander toward the climax.

* * *

When the body beneath him ceased its struggles, Rezzy waited an additional minute before lifting the pillow. Not the most humane death he could have administered, not like the previous ones where he had simply snapped their necks when he was finished, but this one had fought back and that made him angry. Sammy would not fight back after all the effort Rezzy was putting in to perfecting his lovemaking. This was supposed to be practice for his and Sammy's first time. When the body fought back, it ruined his concentration and jerked him out of his sweat-soaked fantasies. 

He thought it would be easy, this learning how to love Sammy, but it was a lot harder than he had anticipated. His first efforts were sloppy and painful judging by the blood, screams, and whimpers of those bodies. That would not do. Rezzy wanted to be sure that when he finally made love to Sam that there would be no pain, no fear. Sammy was special. Pure. Oh, he may have dabbled a bit, experimented while in college – he was a healthy young man after all with a healthy young man's appetites – but he knew that Sammy would be saving his true self, his love and passion, for his soul mate. For him.

Rezzy's next attempts were better. He was able to take his time, to learn the places on and in a man's body that would heighten pleasure. Some of the bodies would respond easily while others were more difficult to master. This last was an utter disaster, but he couldn't resist. From a distance, it could easily have passed for Sammy. He thought this would be a great test of his technique, but it was not to be. Now he had to dispose of the rapidly cooling corpse.

There was very little in this world as soothing as the sound of a knife rasping against a whet stone. The steady slide of steel on stone, its seductive rhythm induced a meditative state. Rezzy used these peaceful moments to visualize his future with Sam. They would hunt for a few more years and then settle down. When the time was right they would adopt some little ones. It would be perfect; just him, Sammy, and their children. Rezzy felt a small pang of regret that Sammi had returned to him as a man and therefore unable to bear his children. They had both wanted a large family. However, he was sure this Sammy would still feel the same.

Rezzy set to work on the body with the sharpened blade. He was careful not to splatter blood or bits of skin on the headboard, where several photos of Sammy were taped. Some he had taken during the boys' tracker training; some were snapped later at Stanford with a telephoto lens. He even had one that he had stolen from John's wallet. It was a faded newspaper clipping showing Sammy at about three, maybe four years old. He was sitting on the hood of the Impala and was wrapped in what looked like a Santa Claus coat. The sadness captured in those hazel eyes, surrounded by blood spatter, never failed to grip his heart.

Rezzy finished dismembering the body. He bagged it, stripped the bed, and flipped the mattress. He then carefully cleaned the room, removing the obvious signs of what had transpired. He had paid for the room a week in advance; he would put up the Do Not Disturb sign when he left. That would buy him a few days. John was calling Sam and Dean today, and the ritual would take place at midnight on Friday. He and Sammy would be long gone before anyone suspected there was a connection between the missing teenager and the bodies of John and Dean Winchester that housekeeping would find in the room.

* * *

The doors to the trauma room imploded under the strength of Dean's entrance. The sudden appearance of the man they suspected of sexually assaulting his own brother caused the sheriff and his deputies to draw their weapons. Dean only had eyes for Sam who had stopped mid-screech. Obeying his instincts, he took a step towards Sam but watched sadly as the young man's eyes filled with fear. 

_Damn. He doesn't know it's really me._

The imminent danger of the situation soaked into Dean's guilt-ridden brain as he found himself facing several gun barrels and a host of itchy trigger fingers. His own hand twitched for the gun hidden in his waistband, but he stifled the urge. Peering through the forest of firearms, he tried to reconnect with Sam, but Sam's head had turned away. Dean took another step forward but found his way blocked by the sheriff and his .357 Magnum. Dean held up his hands. He knew he had never been a favorite of the boys in blue, but he was taken aback by the venom in the man's eyes.

"I take it you're not happy to see me."

Big brother wasn't quite what Bill Drake had been expecting. Dean Winchester was a young man, probably only a few years older than Sam. Dean was compactly built but moved with grace and confidence, like a dancer. The air of alertness coupled with scars peppering exposed areas of skin belied that gentle profession; this man was not unfamiliar with violence. It wouldn't surprise him one bit if Winchester's rap sheet held an assault charge or three.

"Frank. Dwight. Place this piece of shit under arrest. Your kind should be put out of our misery, and when the DNA tests come back the way I expect them to, it will be my pleasure to help the State of Texas do just that."

_Oh, hell no. No way was he going to get his ass carted off to the hoosegow…the pokey…whatever they called a jail in this little Texas backwater. That would leave Sam all alone with a shape-shifter, not to mention demons, black dogs, poltergeists, and all other manner of crazies, running around loose._

Sam really wanted the officers to shoot the bastard but wasn't sure if simple lead rounds would keep the thing dead. The sedative was kicking in making him feel disconnected from everything. God, he wished Dean were here.

Normally, Dean would let himself be arrested and just escape at a more convenient time. However, with Sam incapacitated, that was just not an option. Dean shifted his stance, ready for a fight. Before the pending tragedy could play out, the door slammed opened again, and Kyle rushed into the room. He immediately placed himself between Dean and the sheriff.

Dr. Winton shouted, "Kyle, move!"

"Sheriff, no! It's not him! This isn't the guy who brought Sam in."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bill glanced away from the smirk evolving on Winchester's face to the wide eyes of his deputies. "You had a positive ID."

Dwight stuttered his response and repeated the statements he had taken from the EMTs.

"How can you be sure this isn't the same guy?" Bill asked Kyle.

"Because, I put twelve stitches in the man's face less than an hour ago." Kyle gestured toward Dean and said, "It took a few minutes to kick in when I saw him, but look. He doesn't have any bloody scratches, much less a row of sutures across his temple."

He didn't like it, but Bill holstered his weapon and motioned for the others to follow suit.

Dean rubbed his hands together and asked, "Are we done here? Cause, you know, my little brother was just screaming my name and I'd kind of like to see if he's OK." He pushed past the officers and slowly approached Sam's bedside.

"Sam?" A simple word, in that tone which held all things tender and fearful, broke Sam from his stupor. It was a word never used by the shifter in the weeks Sam had been held captive.

"Dean?" His whispered query was done with his eyes closed. Sam didn't think he could handle waking up and finding that voice to be a dream.

Dean felt more confident. He grasped the younger man's hand and eased off the restraints. Sam opened his eyes as a warm hand began to gently stroke the hair from his forehead.

"Sam." This time, the word was accompanied by a smile and tear-bright eyes.

Sam found a smile for his brother and something else as well - attitude. "Took you long enough."

"Give me a break. Do you know how hard it is to find decent rock for an 8-track player? Dude, Rebecca has got to do something about that car."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dr. Winton whispered to her staff and with pointed looks urged the officers out of the room. "We'll be back in few minutes."

Neither brother seemed to notice their departure.

* * *

Review? Review! Or not, but I hope that you do. 

BTW, I watched House of Wax this week. Hurty for Jared! Anyway, I got tickled when one of the statues Carly picked up in the museum was my vision of a parlingua! Cool!


	17. Chapter 17

The Bringer – 17

* * *

Sam reveled in the feelings of safety and security that Dean's touch induced. His relief combined with the stress of his ordeal and the sedative administered by a well-meaning medical team conspired against his desire to remain awake. 

For his part, Dean watched with satisfaction as Sam's eyes slid closed, no trace of fear remaining in those soft brown orbs. He would allow Sam this time; God knows Dean needed a few minutes to get his own game face back on. He rested his head on the mattress and twined his fingers with his brother's. He would rest for just a moment, then get Sam dressed and get the hell out of there.

* * *

_He was back in the corn. Recognizing the area from his previous dream, Dean hurried to the center of the field. The clearing was right where he remembered it, and the beautiful man from before was there. Sam wasn't._

_Dean ignored the stranger and began calling for his brother. When Dean turned to re-enter the field, the stranger touched his arm and Dean stopped._

"_The Bringer is not here, Dean. His time is running out."_

"_Who are you, and what do you know about my brother?"_

"_I am Eros."_

_Dean couldn't help the snort, and he could feel the smirk steal over his face. "The naked baby with the arrows?"_

_The exotic-looking man replied, "That would be a myth. I am no myth."_

"_You're the Love God?"_

"_The God of Love, yes."_

"_So, what is the 'God of Love' doing lurking in a cornfield?"_

"_I'm trying to save Sam."_

_Well, that sure as hell caught Dean's attention._

"_Save him from what?"_

"_He is The Bringer. __You call Sam's power his 'shining,' and you are more correct than you know. He is a beacon in the void; his power calls to those who would use him for their own purposes. If he is not protected, madness will be unleashed on the world."_

_Dean's fear of failing his baby brother broke through the polite façade he used for addressing supreme beings._

"_Why the fuck do you even care? You're one of those all-knowing deity-guys. What happens to us doesn't mean shit to you people!"_

_Eros refused to rise to the bait cast by Dean's anxiety._

"_Some gods feel that way. What happens here does not affect them, so they do not interfere."_

"_And it affects you how?"_

"_My power springs from humanity's capacity to love. Were your people overrun by the demonic, by chaos, my power would fade. So saving Sam is very personal to me."_

_Dean pondered this for a moment. It might be cool to have an actual god on his side for once. Even if it was something lame like the God of Love. Why couldn't he get the God of War or the God of Kick Ass Weapons? This guy was gonna make him hug a puppy or something, wasn't he?_

"_You can save Sam?"_

"_No." Before Dean's blood pressure could paint his face entirely red, Eros gave a soft smile and said, "But you can."_

_Dean halted his rant before it began. The not-a-fat-baby-with-wings was offering him the path to Sam's salvation. Dean refused to feel shame for the little quaver that crept into his voice as he asked, "How can I save Sam? I read the prophecy. I know what it says Sam is capable of, and if it's true, then every evil sonofabitch in a thousand mile radius will be after him."_

"_You must bond with him again."_

"_What do you mean, 'again'?"_

"_You already share two very powerful bonds. The bond of family…"_

_(Familius)_

_The word whispered through Dean's mind and was accompanied by a flash of his first vision - of Eros placing Dean's palm on Sam's forehead._

"…_and the bond of warriors."_

_(Spiritus)_

_This time, the vision showed Eros placing Dean's hand on Sam's chest._

"_If you create a third bond with him, your gifts will shelter Sam from possession for as long as you honor the bond. Even in death."_

_The vision showed his hand resting low on Sam's belly. "The third bond." Dean stared into the god's eyes. "Eros. It's a sex bond."_

_The god nodded…_

…and Dean woke up.

* * *

As Sam watched Dean sleep, he examined his feelings about having his brother back by his side. Of course he was happy. The waking nightmare was over; however, Sam knew he would face an uphill battle over the next several months as he struggled to come to terms with what was done to him. It would be awful and painful, not only for himself, but also for Dean. So far, his big brother seemed okay, but Sam knew Dean well enough to know that wouldn't last. As soon as the excitement of their reunion dissipated, the guilt would arrive full force and Dean would be hard pressed to even look Sam in the eye. 

Sam was also nervous. Would he be able to trust that the man with spiky blond hair and laughing green eyes was really his brother and not some imitation? Trust was vital during a hunt, and if he couldn't trust Dean, then Dean couldn't trust him. Except, Dean would always trust Sam to watch his back; if Sam fucked up in the middle of a fight because of his doubts, Dean could get hurt.

Or killed.

Which was unacceptable, so Sam would just have to not fuck up.

He smiled as Dean gave a little snort in his sleep. Sam remembered that when he was younger the little snuffling sounds Dean made in his sleep always made him feel safe. If his protector felt secure enough to let down his guard and dream, then it was safe for Sammy to sleep.

Sam loosed his fingers from Dean's grasp and began to gently pet his brother's soft hair. The lack of gel was testament to the time Dean had put in to the search for Sam and the shifter. This small clue as to the depth of his brother's love for him threatened to unleash Sam's tears once more, but Dean chose that moment to wake.

Dean sat up and rubbed his face. As Sam had feared, Dean wouldn't look him in the eye. However, it wasn't Sam causing Dean's discomfiture. It was Dean's realization of what Eros wanted him to do to an innocent young man who had already been assaulted by a creature wearing Dean's face. After that, how could Sam ever allow Dean's touch?

_God, what a mess. I wish Dad were here._

Both boys were quiet as they considered their brother and their next move. Finally, Sam said, "Well, at least now there's one less shifter in the world."

Dean squirmed a bit and did not reply.

"Dean? He's dead, isn't he? You killed him?"

"No. Look, Sam, I'm sorry. I was so close. I was outside your hotel room ready to bust some heads, but the two of you had already been brought here."

"Then how did you find me?"

"Bastard called me," Dean grumbled. At Sam's questioning look, he continued, "He told me you were here. Said he couldn't take care of you and that you belonged with me."

Trying to break through Sam's barriers with some Winchester-style humor, Dean said, "I see the car has a new coat of wax. Guess he wasn't a complete waste of skin, huh?"

Sam's incredulous eyes were quickly followed by a bark of laughter, beautiful to Dean's ears. Dean grinned, pleased with his ability to turn Sammy's frown upside down.

"Don't make me laugh," Sam groaned, clutching his side as he tried to stifle the giggles. It was a stupid joke, lame and inappropriate, but it was so Dean. Go, how Sam loved his big brother. He would do anything for Dean, even get over what had been done to…

_Damn, Sam. If you can't think it, you can't say it. And if you can't say it, you'll never get it out of your head._

_Raped. He'd been raped._

_There. He'd thought it. Now he would get over it._

Dean's happiness subsided as he saw the seriousness reclaim Sam's face. It was time to get moving. He couldn't do too much thinking if Dean kept him moving.

"Wanna beat feet?"

Sam nodded, grateful at the opportunity to take action. He allowed Dean to help him dress in a spare set of scrubs pilfered from the storage cabinet. Dean helped himself to a few vials of medicine. Sam would heal, but he needed to be watched for infection.

"Wait here. I'll get the paperwork and then we'll get out of here."

Sam grabbed Dean's arm as the older man turned to leave. Sam couldn't look at Dean, but Sam's fingers tightened their hold. Dean replayed the last few moments and understood Sam's unease. Sure, Dean would be walking out that door, but who, or rather what, would walk back in?

"Okay, kiddo. Lean on me." Dean moved close and allowed Sam to retain his claim to Dean's forearm. He provided support to the young man as they shuffled for the exit.

They moved slowly but surely to the nurse's station. The sheriff, deputies, and medical staff swarmed them, which gave Dean the shivers and caused fear-sweat to bead on Sam's upper lip. Despite the protests of everyone but Sam, Dean insisted on leaving. However, the sheriff insisted on getting statements from each before allowing them to walk out. After an interminable period for both brothers, they were finally cleared to leave.

Dean helped Sam to the parking lot and eased him into the Impala. Dean knew this would be a difficult test for his little brother, but he vowed to do everything in his power to make Sam feel more secure. Dean took off his leather jacket, tossed it into the back seat, and handed Sam his weapon. He then rolled up his shirt sleeves in order to expose as much naked skin as possible.

_See, Sam? Nothing up my sleeve. Nothing here to hurt you. You have the gun. You are safe._

Dean hoped his little strip show would help. He was rewarded by a slight lessening of tension in Sam's shoulders and a half-hearted grin on that beloved face. Before Dean could slide into the driver's seat, he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned in what appeared to be a casual move but which effectively blocked Sam from the person's view. It was the young nurse, Kyle.

"Mr. Winchester! I'm glad I caught you." Kyle extended his arm, and Dean accepted the object in Kyle's hand. Sam's cell phone. "Your brother, uh, your other brother left this. He wanted Sam to have it back."

"Thanks." Dean wasn't sure what to think. This was his baby brother's phone, but it was also an instrument of torture for both of them. It had played a part in the nightmare both had lived the last few weeks, and all he really wanted to do was to smash it.

Before Kyle left the brothers, he stated, "Oh, your Dad called. I think he left a message." With that, the nurse returned to the hospital.

Sam's head popped up on the other side of the car.

"Did he say Dad?"

_Missed 1 call._

Dean blew out a breath and got into the car. The slamming of the passenger side door earned Sam a glare. Sam smirked at the return to the familiar. He watched carefully as Dean checked the voicemail.

_Voicemail! From Dad! Not coordinates!_

Dean hit the speakerphone option and the boys gathered closely around the cell.

"_Sammy, its Dad. I know you and Dean probably had a fight, but I need you to listen to me. You need to find your brother, and the two of need to get to Ouray, Colorado by Friday. Call me as soon as you get this message. I love you, son."_

Dean grabbed his own cell phone from his pocket.

_Dammit!_

_Missed 1 call._

He retrieved the call, and the boys listened again to that long-lost voice.

"_Dean, I don't know what's going on with you and Sam, but you need to fix it. Bring Sammy to Ouray, Colorado by Friday. Call me when you hit town."_

Dean tossed the younger man's cell phone into Sam's lap.

"You heard Dad. He wants you to call him right away." Years of practice kept the hurt from Dean's voice. He was not jealous of Sam. His little brother deserved all the love in the world, and God knows Sam needed to hear those words from John more often, but would it have killed their Dad to include Dean in that sentiment?

* * *

Pretty much every stressful thing that could happen to someone has happened to me and my family in the last month. I'm in a lull now, and **valkyrie-alex's** latest chapter of Suffer the Little Children really helped get me through my writer's block. Thanks to everyone for bearing with me.

**sammygirl1963** - A wee dab of John to tide you over!

**StarTrekObsessed** - Ah, sap and sex, my favorite. Sorry, only a little sap, but there be sex inthe future. It is a Wincest story!

**mimifoxlove** - Here's a little bit more about the ritual. More details coming up, but you know it's not going to be pleasant for Sammy.

Thanks to everyone else for reviewing the last chapters. I would love to hear from you again...


	18. Chapter 18

The Bringer – 18

* * *

Sam refused to return John Winchester's call until the brothers were on the road. Although he was frustrated, Dean understood Sam's desire to put some miles between them and the last few weeks. Finally, Sam opened his cell and called their Dad. 

"Sammy? Where are you?"

"We're in…" Sam looked around for a road sign. "Dean, where are we?"

"About an hour out of Dallas. We'll be in Colorado sometime tomorrow night." Dean was proud of his steady, matter-of-fact tone. His cool exterior had nearly broken when he heard his long-absent father's voice over Sam's phone. He kept his eyes on the road as Sam repeated their location and listened closely to catch John Winchester's response.

"That's good." John sounded relieved, an unusual emotion for him. "Sammy, I know about Palo Alto. I'm damned sorry, son. Jessica seemed like a nice girl."

"She was the best," replied Sam.

"We're gonna get that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, Sammy. I promise you."

Sam jolted upright in the seat, winced at the sharp slashes of pain from his injuries, and asked, "Is that what this is about? The demon?"

He turned hopeful eyes to his brother, only to have John dash those hopes at his next words.

"No, not this time. This is something else, but it's just as important. I'll tell you everything tomorrow night. Now let me talk to Dean."

As bitterness resurrected itself at his father's latest orders, Sam asked, "Dad, why did you leave Dean? And why haven't you returned any of our calls?"

Dean goggled at Sam, astounded as always at the boy's flagrant disregard of their assigned roles in life. Dad was the general; Dean and Sam were the soldiers. Soldiers followed orders; they didn't question them.

Dean could hear his father's response as John said, "Sammy, give Dean the phone."

"There were lots of times we could have used your help," Sam continued as if he hadn't heard the warning tone in his Dad's voice.

"SAM!"

"SAM!"

Sam winced as his name was shouted in stereo and didn't fight when Dean's free hand grabbed the phone. With a final incredulous look at his disobedient sibling, Dean spoke to his father for the first time in months.

"Dad."

John said, "I see some things haven't changed."

"Yeah," agreed Dean quietly. But some things had changed irrevocably. How much to tell Dad about the shifter? Well, that was up to Sam, but what about the Bringer stuff?

"I'm sending you the address in Ouray. Dean, you stay with your brother until you get here. Do not leave his side for a second, not even to take a piss. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

Dean nearly bit his tongue trying to hold back his questions. Damn, Sam was rubbing off on him. The image that popped into his mind at that thought brought a flush to his cheeks. Thank God the sun was going down.

Going down.

_Goddammit!! What the hell was he thinking? Was Eros messing with him?_

Dean heard John speaking but the words were muffled and he couldn't make them out. He realized his Dad was not alone.

"Dad?"

"Dean, tell your brother…tell him I'm sorry. I'll see you two tomorrow night."

John ended the call, and Dean handed the phone to Sam. The older brother turned up the radio as the opening chords of Metallica's _Welcome Home_ were piped through the speakers. Sam recognized the signs. Although he wanted to talk, to find out how Dean was feeling about the sudden return of their father in their lives, he knew that his brother needed to process and any pushing would only end in an argument. That was something Sam didn't think he could handle right now. He kept silent and watched the white lines fly by.

* * *

As John severed the connection with his children, he renewed his vow to end the existence of the demon who had taken his Mary. Once it was destroyed, he and the boys could be a family again. Maybe. If he could gain Sam's forgiveness. 

Because God knew, after tomorrow night, he would never have Dean's.

* * *

Short, I know. After such a long hiatus there should be more. I don't usually try to explain why I have delays in my postings, but for those of you who have been following this story, you deserve more.

Two months ago, my father fell very ill and wound up with on a ventilator and eventually a trach tube. After several weeks in a specialized center, he was weaned from the trach and transferred to a nursing and rehabilitation facility near home. The day before Mother's Day, he was rushed back to the ICU. He died the next morning while I was sitting by his side.

I expect to post more frequently in the future, and I hope you continue to support this story through reviews. FYI, my regular e-mail is down, but feel free to contact me at leev96 at hotmal dot com.


	19. Chapter 19

The Bringer – 19

* * *

Dean had been uncomfortable with stopping. If it were just him, he would have driven straight through to Ouray to get to his father that much sooner. It wasn't just him, though; there was Sam to think about, and Dean could tell his little brother was hurting. His instincts regarding Sam's health were right on because the younger man didn't question Dean as they pulled into a surprisingly nice hotel parking lot. 

Sam managed to hold back a sigh of relief at Dean's thoughtfulness. He knew Dean was trying to make things as easy as possible. The love and gratitude Sam felt towards his brother at that moment brought moisture to his eyes and nearly overwhelmed his control.

Securing a room for a few hours went smoothly with only one little hitch. That hitch squatted before Dean as he entered Room 12.

A bed. _A_ bed. As in one. Shit. To hell with Dad's orders to keep Sam in his sights. Their father had no idea what Sam had been through. Sam's peace of mind was more important right now.

Rubbing his neck self-consciously, Dean said, "You don't have to worry, Sam. I'll sleep in the car tonight. Let's draw the salt lines, and I'll let you get some rest."

Sam tossed his bag on the far side of the bed and sat facing Dean who was digging in his duffle. Sam was actually alright with the arrangements. His mistreatment at the hands of the shifter was not a problem, at least, not for Sam. He knew that Dean was torn up inside over Sam's kidnapping and rape. That the rapist had worn Dean's face contributed to his uncharacteristic behavior.

"Dean, don't. It's fine; you can sleep here."

Dean's head shot up and he looked at Sam with horror.

"Sam, no! What if you have a nightmare and wake up with me staring down at you?"

Sam let out a small laugh and asked, "Afraid I'll lay you out?"

Sam's attempt at humor backfired as Dean said, "Afraid you'll have a breakdown. Or a heart attack. I don't want to hurt you, Sam."

"You won't hurt me."

"I don't want you to be afraid of me, either."

Sam's heart hurt at Dean's soft statement. He wanted so much to hug his brother and tell him that everything would be all right. But that wasn't the Winchester way. Besides, Dean had backed away and was now plastered to the door as far from Sam as he could be without actually leaving.

"Dean, I have never been, nor will I ever be, afraid of you. What the shifter did…I know that you would never hurt me that way."

Dean was disgusted with himself for his utter failure as Sam's protector. There was a not-so-small part of Dean that believed he was responsible due to his desire for his little brother. If he had been stronger, if he hadn't wanted something he could never have, Sam wouldn't be sitting in front of him, small and sad, trying to offer comfort.

Sam tried again, appealing to the hunter within Dean. "C'mon. I'll help with the salt. We need to get some sleep so we'll be ready for whatever Dad's found."

As he approached his brother, Dean said, "You don't have to do this. I know Dad said he wants us both there, but he and I can handle it."

"You don't even know what it is."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of spirits and demons I don't know anything about. Doesn't keep me from kicking their asses when I find 'em." He allowed his trademark smirk, guaranteed to tick off Sammy, to spread across his face.

Instead of anger, Sam felt joy. If Dean could make jokes, he would be OK. And Sam desperately needed his big brother to be OK.

The brothers shared some awkward moments before finally settling down in the darkness, both consumed with thoughts of the other: Sam wanting to protect Dean from what he knew was going to be a horrific meltdown and Dean wanting to protect Sam from everything. Eventually, they each drifted off to sleep.

_He was on his back and something was wrong with the sky. Sam couldn't think clearly enough to puzzle it out, but he was aware enough__ to realize he was having a vision. He was so disconnected he didn't immediately feel the pain. The pain was coming from the shape which was pressing him into the dirt. The strange sky, bright, cast the shape's face in shadow, but he knew it was large, misshapen, and reeked of death._

_The shape…was it speaking to him? At Sam's thought, sound was added to sight._

"…_if you refuse again. Is that what you want, Bringer?"_

_Sam stared stupidly at the shape and did not reply. The shape chuckled and leaned closer, its lips grazing Sam's cheek as he turned away._

"_Maybe you enjoy it. Do you, Bringer? Does his suffering bring you pleasure?" The question was accompanied by an obscene thrust of its hips._

_Unable to withstand the pressure of the other's body and the overwhelming odor, Sam pushed the shape's chin back with his left arm and poured every ounce of strength into a hard right cross followed by a knee to its groin._

_The shape, taken by surprise, curled on its side, freeing Sam. He rolled away and struggled to his knees. The sight that greeted him halted his rise and distracted him long enough for the shape to recover and tackle him to the ground once again._

_Hot saliva dripped onto Sam's cheek and neck as the shape giggled madly._

"_Lovely, isn't he? Pity about the hand. That's what happens when you pull yourself off a spike. But it was your refusal to call on your maker that brought on his most recent alteration."_

_Less than ten feet away was his brother, and he had been crucified. Dean's left hand was secured with a spike. The spike, narrow at the end that secured Dean to the heavy wooden cross, expanded to nearly twice its width at the end. Dean had obviously struggled against his bonds and had slid his right hand over its spike, the end result of which was a hand split in two. That part of his appendage that retained the ring and pinky fingers dangled from the rest of his limb. The cruel spike, unable to find purchase in the destroyed hand, had been driven into his forearm instead._

_However, Sam realized that was not the 'alteration' the shape spoke of. That was reserved for Dean's mouth. Dean's beautiful lips had been sewn shut. __Sam struggled beneath the monster keeping him from Dean and cried out his frustration._

"_Call him, Bringer! Call on Chaos to protect you! To protect your brother!"_

_Confused and frightened, Sam was ready to do as he was asked though he didn't understand the purpose. Before Sam could speak, a moan of anguish from Dean silenced him._

_Dean, eyes streaming bloody tears, forced open his lips, breaking the stitches and tearing the flesh. He spoke one word._

"_No!"_

And Sam woke up screaming.

* * *

Please review! I am off to watch 'Transformers'! Woo-hoo! How many times can I use an exclamation mark?!?!?! 


	20. Chapter 20

The Bringer – 20

* * *

Dean pretended to sleep as he lay next to Sam. He was too keyed up to doze off; the eve of a hunt affected him that way. Usually he would find some local lovely to help him work off the excess energy, but that was not an option for him right now. It hadn't been since Sam came back into this life. 

Dean turned his head to gaze at his sibling. Sam looked at peace. Dean wasn't sure if he would be as comfortable if the tables had been turned. Of course, if the tables had been turned, he could have been fucking a Sammy look-alike's brains out right this minute.

Dean slipped out from the warmth their bodies had created beneath the bedspread. Years past, Dean perfected the art of keeping an eye on his little brother without actually staring. His peripheral vision was well above average; Dean called it his _Sammy-vision_. He'd needed it, too, with all the trouble the kid could attract the moment the older Winchesters' backs were turned.

Dean used this gift as he set out their weapons. He kept watch over Sam, ready to wake him before he slipped into a nightmare. As emo as Sam was when he was awake, it was surprising there was anything left for his subconscious to brood over when he finally dozed off. Dean smirked to himself and let his hands continue their work. They would be facing John Winchester in a few hours, and he wouldn't let his dad catch him with dirty weapons. Lost in his musings and the familiar scents of gun oil and Sammy, Dean didn't realize he had finally drifted off until…

_He was back in the corn._

"_Goddammit!" Dean shouted. What is it with you and corn?"_

_The scene shimmered, and Dean found himself next to a pool table. The air was thick and hazy with cigarette smoke while the cacophony of a jukebox, clinking glasses, and loud laughter mingled with the scent of beer to create in Dean a sense of the familiar. Of home. And how fucked up was that?_

"_Is this better?" A smooth voice behind him made Dean jump. He spun around and saw Eros, this time dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans. The god moved past Dean and lined up his shot._

"_I'm solids."_

_Dean liked women, and he loved Sam, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a nice ass when it presented itself. They played for a few minutes, when Dean broke the silence between them._

"_Can we get on with this? I'm supposed to be watching Sam."_

"_You're supposed to be having sex with Sam."_

"_We've got some stuff to work through. You know, like Sam's my brother, Sam's not gay, Sam just got raped by a guy who looks like me. And did I say he's my brother? My baby brother, who am I supposed to protect from guys perving on him? If I make a move, he'll run."_

"_You'll save the world."_

"_I do that all the time," replied Dean. "It's over-rated."_

"_I'm serious."_

"_So am I! The hours suck, and the pay is for shit."_

_Eros tried a different tack. "You'll save your brother."_

"_From what? Sanity?"_

"_If a demon or a child of Chaos were to possess him, it would use Sam's power to destroy everything worth living for. Dean, you know better than anyone how sensitive Sam is. He wouldn't be responsible, but that wouldn't stop him from taking responsibility."_

_Dean's 'duh, dude' expression and sarcastic eye roll was the last straw. For the first time since Dean met the God of Love, the being appeared angry. Eros slammed his cue stick onto the table and stalked toward the human._

"_Cut the shit, Dean, and listen up! If you don't complete the bond with Sam, I know someone else who will."_

_A tidal wave of jealously swept through Dean. Who would Eros give Sam to? The shapeshifter. Yeah, that face-stealing bitch would love to have Sam under its control again._

_Eros continued to push, saying, "I don't want to grant this bond with Sam to anyone else, Dean. But I will if I have to."_

_Dean swallowed the rage that the thought of Sam bonding himself to another brought on and settled for glaring at the god._

"_So what exactly is this bond, and how will it help Sam?"_

_Eros led him to an empty booth where two cool glasses of beer waited and began his story._

"_Millennia ago, many came to my altars seeking a way to prove their love and commitment. I forged rituals that my temple priests would pass on to the lovers. If they completed the rite, I would gift them with the ability to experience one another's feelings. Among the bonded, misunderstandings were rare._

"_The practice lasted for centuries. Later, my priests perverted the rituals, forcing the reluctant into bonds with those who offered wealth or power. Because my power was woven into the symbols used during the rite, I was bound to uphold them. The bond became a punishment instead of the blessing it was intended to be."_

_Dean squirmed. He didn't like the sound of this. Eros noted his discomfort and smiled softly._

"_It won't be like that with you and Sam. You trust one another as brothers. You respect one another as soldiers. You will make love with one another as equals."_

_Eros continued with the lesson._

"_At first I didn't care that the unwilling were being conscripted into unions. It took the near undoing of all I had for me to see how wrong I was in allowing the desecration of love. When the great wars smeared across the land, tens of thousands were killed. Bonds were broken as viciously as they had been formed. That's when I noticed that certain people were more susceptible to the loss. The twisted ritual had created metaphysical bonds rather than emotional ones. For those with power, the bond shields them, leaving them less vulnerable to attack. That is what Sam needs. What you need to become."_

"_A psychic security blanket."_

_Eros smiled. Dean had taken his carefully crafted speech and distilled it into four little words. He truly liked this young man. He hoped Dean wouldn't die soon._

"_I can do security," Dean said. He'd been doing it since he was four years old. "What's the catch?"_

"_The bond can be broken in two ways, which would leave Sam once again defenseless. First, you can choose not to continue the bond." He raised his hand to stop Dean's protest. "I know you would never willingly leave Sam out in the psychic cold, but it remains an option. Second, Sam can choose to betray the bond by having sex with someone else."_

_Dean choked back a bark of laughter. Sam was Mr. Monogamy. The boy did not play around, and the thought of him going behind Dean's back to fuck some stranger, well, that was pretty damned funny. Soon, the laughter died in his throat and he asked, "What if something happens to me?"_

"_Most of the gifted ones died or went insane when their bond was severed," said Eros. "If Sam agrees to the ritual, if he succumbs to a bond, I will protect him."_

_Though his eyes were staring at the tabletop, Dean saw nothing, not even his slightly trembling hands. Instead, his sight was focused inward. Could he do this? He supposed the question should be, could he do this to Sam?_

_Eros knew Dean's inner turmoil. Dean wanted to be with Sam, but he was also Sam's protector. The boy's happiness was more important to Dean than his own, but happiness would have to be sacrificed for safety. Sadly, that was choice each of the Winchesters was intimately familiar with. Eros couldn't see the future; he didn't know if Sam would give in to Dean, but he did know that there were others who were willing and able to take Dean's place._

_Eros leaned across the table and touched Dean's cheek. Tired green eyes met sympathetic brown. Dean let his eyelids drop as Eros' fingertips ghosted over his face. He was unprepared for the sudden slap that…_

…woke him from his dream just in time to see Sam erupt from the bed screaming. Dean was so startled he toppled from the chair he had been dozing in. Only luck kept him from slicing a vein or worse on the collection of knives he had been sharpening.

Sam floundered trying to disentangle himself from the bedcovers. He had to get up. He had to run. He had to stop the vision of Dean's crucifixion from coming true. He stopped screaming and flopped onto the hotel room floor. Sam began to crawl toward his brother. He didn't see Dean, though. He saw only the shining knives.

At first Dean thought Sam was coming to him for comfort. Then he heard Sam's muttering.

"No…more…don't…want…to…see…any…more…no…see…no."

"Sam?" asked Dean softly as he leaned toward his little brother. "Sammy?"

Sam drew closer and his pitiful vocalizations stopped. He sat back on his heels, and Dean mirrored his posture. They were perhaps a yard apart with only a set of razor-sharp steel separating them.

Sam looked directly into Dean's eyes and said in a voice void of inflection, "I don't want to see any more."

Dean Winchester's reflexes were fast. On this night, Sam Winchester's were faster.

In a fair fight, Dean and Sam were evenly matched. Sam's size made up for his lesser experience, but that was in a _fair_ fight. Dean immediately understood as he pushed himself toward Sam that he was fighting for his brother's life, and in order to win he would use every dirty trick in and out of the book.

As he tackled Sam to the floor, Dean wrapped his hands around Sam's, which were holding Dean's favorite knife. The one he had received on his eighteenth birthday. The one that was a gift from Sam. The gift that was now determined to gouge out those beloved puppy-brown eyes.

Sam picked up his mantra again as their sweat-slicked bodies fought for control of the weapon.

"_I don't want to see any more."_

It was getting to Dean. It would be different if there were some passion, some life in Sam's voice. Instead he heard only cold determination.

Well, he had some determination of his own. With a whispered apology, Dean reared back and head-butted his little brother. He used the precious few seconds Sam needed to recover to straddle the brunette and gain leverage over the hands clasping the knife. Dean gulped much-needed breaths and took stock of Sam's condition.

Sweat peppered Sam's brow, and there was a fanatical gleam in his eyes. There were also some nicks on Sam's face where Dean hadn't been quick enough or strong enough to stop the knife from doing its job. They weren't bad; Sam had cut himself worse shaving. That they were there at all pained Dean. Once again, he wasn't good enough. And Sam wouldn't shut up.

Dean had control of the knife hands now. He pushed them over Sam's head and pressed them firmly into the carpet, but he was strangely reluctant to completely remove the weapon from Sam's grasp. He needed to reach his brother. Let him make the choice to put down the knife. Otherwise, he would have to watch the young man every second and would have to lock him down when Dean needed sleep. Dean would do it, but God, he didn't want to. That would be too much like the way the shifter had treated Sam. It would damage their relationship beyond repair.

Keeping a firm grip on the knife hand, Dean leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. Sam quieted and the two of the breathed in the new silence of the room.

"Why, Sam?" asked Dean. "Why do you want to hurt yourself?"

A tear slipped from the corner of Sam's eye as he replied, "I don't want to see any more."

"See what, Sam? A vision? Did you have a vision?"

Sam nodded his head, which unleashed more of the tiny rivers of saltwater from his eyes. Dean sat back, but kept Sam's arms secured.

"So you figured you'd do what? Poke out your eyes? That's just dumb, Sam." Dean felt like a complete shit as he berated the younger man. He softened his tone when he noticed Sam looking at him rather than through him. "Sam, your visions are in your mind, not your eyes. You'll be maiming yourself for nothing. You'll still have visions."

Sam's intermittent struggles to free his arms ceased completely as Dean's words sank in. Dean was right. Just destroying his sight wouldn't be enough to keep his visions from torturing him. He needed to do something else.

Dean's Sammy-senses were working overtime, and he was ready when Sam tensed and tried to throw him off. Sam's recent ordeal left him weaker than usual and Dean didn't have to hold his brother down for long. Sam wouldn't be passive forever, though. Dean had to think quickly. What would keep Sam from hurting or killing himself? He had an idea.

Once again, Dean leaned forward and rubbed Sam's cheek with his own. He breathed softly into the tender skin of Sam's neck and said, "If you want to kill yourself to end the visions, I won't stop you." Dean released Sam's arms and moved to lay beside Sam. His right hand gently turned Sam's head toward him, and he cupped that sad face. "Just do me one favor. Slit my throat. Kill me first, Sammy, because I couldn't stand living without you."

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Sam brought his own arms down from where they had been pinned. The knife lay forgotten above him. His mind superimposed the Dean from his vision onto the Dean who was with him now. He didn't want Dean to die. Sam let his fingers twine with his brother's and pulled their hands back so that he could see them clearly. No blood. No deformity from impalement escaped. Sam brought them close again and kissed the back of Dean's hand. Sam's attention was then drawn to Dean's face.

Dean felt the threat of Sam's imminent suicide pass and contented himself with watching his brother come back to the present. He was mesmerized by Sam's eyes as the two sat up and faced one another. Dean noted that Sam still had hold of his hand, but he was in no hurry to break their connection.

Sam felt like he was floating in a dream – a nice one this time. He was sitting quietly with Dean. He couldn't keep his eyes off of Dean's undamaged lips, and his hands soon followed where his eyes led. Sam stroked those soft folds first with forefinger, second with thumb. He couldn't help himself as he leaned in and, with the barest of touches, kissed his way across first Dean's top lip and then the bottom one. Gone were the hideous strips of bleeding flesh. In their place, perfection.

Dean felt as if every molecule in his body had ceased movement. No movement meant this moment could go on forever, and oh, how he wanted that. Sam was touching him. Sam was kissing him. Until he wasn't any more. Why wasn't Sam kissing him any more? What the hell was that noise?

The ringing of Dean's cell phone brought them both out of their sensual trance. Dean fumbled for the phone and saw his father's number. He spoke to John, reassuring him that they would be joining him in a few hours.

Sam used the interruption to grab some clean clothes and head into the bathroom for a shower. He felt used up, empty, except for a Dean-shaped area around his heart. Dean had saved him again; saved him from mutilation or worse. Sam didn't want to die, and honestly, he didn't really want to be completely rid of the visions. A lot of the time, the visions were a tool to save lives. He could do without the gore and fear he always experienced, but if it meant saving someone, saving Dean, he would suffer them gladly. Well, maybe not gladly, but still. He would take the vision as it was meant to be taken. As a warning of what could be. He would do everything in his power to keep 'could be' from becoming a reality.

Dean heard the shower cut off, and he quickly ended the call with his father. Sam had been so dream-like during their brief encounter. Would Sam want to pick up where they left off? Dean's plaid boxer-briefs hinted that he would not turn the younger man away. He scuttled around the room, securing the loose weaponry and putting away the gun oil and whet stones. He did a quick sniff test on his armpits and cupped a hand in front of his mouth to check his breath. OK on both. Not roses, but Sam wasn't a flowery kind of guy. Dean straightened the bedding and fluffed the pillows. When he heard the bathroom door begin to open, he got under the covers on his side and lay back, trying to appear casual.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom and shut out the lights. He crawled into his side of the bed and lay on his side facing Dean. Dean settled down in a matching pose. He would let Sam take the lead.

Sam could see only a faint outline of his brother, but he knew Dean was watching him closely. Sam had a question he wanted to ask. It was something that had been bothering him for a while, and now was the time to find out from the one he trusted above all others.

"Dean."

"Yeah, Sam?"

"I have to ask you something, and I want you to think about it before you answer. It's important."

"OK. Shoot." Dean was smiling inside but his face remained a careful mask of curiosity. He just knew that Sam was going to ask about Dean's experience with men. That was all right. He didn't have much, but he had enough to get them both to the finish line.

The question that came out of Sam's mouth was the last thing he expected.

"Have you ever heard of something called the Bringer?"

* * *

Argh! Finally! The chapter that would not begin and then refused to end. Hang in there, readers! We are closing in some hurty and some lovey action. Please review and let me know what you think. 


	21. Chapter 21

**The Bringer – 21**

* * *

After Sam's innocent question, Dean leapt from their bed like his shorts were on fire. He was not ready to talk about this. He didn't know if he would ever _be_ ready to talk about this. There was no going back to sleep now. He dressed quickly, packed what was left of his gear, and told Sam to get a move on. If they left now, they would be in Ouray before midnight. 

Sam was startled at the abrupt change in Dean's demeanor. He had been so calm, so…soft. Not at all like his brother, but it was exactly what Sam needed after that nightmare vision. And now they were leaving. Or were they running? Yeah, they were. Running to Dad, but John Winchester couldn't make this better. Something inside Sam told him that Dean could make it better. That Dean could save him. From what he wasn't sure, but that same something deep inside whispered that his brother knew.

Sam didn't blame Dean for wanting to relinquish responsibility to their father, not one bit. He knew he was a burden to his big brother at the best of times, but Sam couldn't imagine talking to his father about the things that had happened, were still happening, to him since Jessica was murdered. When John Winchester learned the truth about Sam, his visions and his inability to protect himself, well, the inevitable screaming match didn't bear thinking about.

Dean pulled out his phone to notify their father of their new ETA, but it wouldn't keep a signal.

_Damn. Shoulda recharged last night._

"Sam, gimme me your phone."

Sam tossed his phone to Dean and headed towards the manager's office. While the younger man returned the room keys, Dean flipped open the phone to call their Dad. A shiver ran down his spine as he noted Sam had a new text message. It was an uncomfortable reminder of what he had gone through every morning since Sam was taken. With a guilty peek towards his brother, Dean opened the message.

"_For the longest, most intense orgasm of your life, call…"_

"What the? Ha! Sammy spam."

_Delete._

_Retrieve._

_Forward to DEAN._

_Delete._

An idea came to Dean. He opened Sam's photos with the intent of removing the ones that had been forwarded to Dean's email by the shifter. There was no need for Sam to see those – he had lived them.

Dean easily found the pictures of his Sam in the hands of the monster. After they helped their Dad with whatever, Dean was sending Sam to Pastor Jim's while the elder Winchesters hunted down and extracted their own form of vengeance against this thing.

As Dean was deleting the pictures, he ran across some he hadn't been forwarded. All of them were of Sam. Some of them included the shifter doing…things…to Sam, but many were obviously taken while Sam was asleep. He felt as if he were destroying something precious when he deleted those. Sam really was beautiful when he slept. Dean was nearing the end of the saved photos when he came to the most recent one; the date stamp said it had been taken the same day that the shifter had called with Sammy in hysterics. Dean didn't remember getting photos on that day, so it was with some trepidation that Dean opened the picture.

It took his breath away.

Sammy, naked, chained to the hood of the Impala.

Tears sprang to Dean's eyes. Tears of sympathy for Sam, tears of hatred once again for the shifter, and tears of disgust for himself as his body reacted strongly to the erotic image. This had been a special fantasy of Dean's, one he treasured because it never failed to get him off and it contained the two people...things?...whatever, that he loved most in the world. And now it was ruined.

Dean heard Sam returning and quickly deleted the photo. He dropped the phone into the passenger seat along with a certain book he had pulled from his gear. Then he hastily rubbed his eyes and started the car. Time to hit the road.

Sam opened the door to the Impala and found his phone and…a Necronomicon? He gathered the items and folded himself gently into the seat once again, trying to mask the pain this action caused. Of course, Dean noticed, but other than a tightening of hands on the wheel, he showed no sign and made no comment.

Sam skimmed through the book as they neared the Colorado border. He had seen Dean's contemplative look about two hours back when they passed the exit for Las Vegas. He would be forever thankful to whatever it was that had Dean changing his mind about a little side trip to test Sam's _shining_ in a more 'fun' atmosphere. Sam didn't think he was ready to be around that many strangers. It was just the kind of place a shape-shifter would like. Plenty of potential skins and no way to know who was real until it was too late.

_OK, Sam. Time to focus._

"Dean, I get that you're trying to tell me something in your own way, but what does this book…"

"Goddammit! Who the hell are these people?" Dean's outburst coincided with an increase in traffic into the Centennial State. "Don't you have jobs?"

In a gruff and slightly lower tone, Dean advised Sam, "Page 198."

Sam flipped through to the appropriate page, and his eyes immediately found the word 'Bringer.'

_Child of fire, twice blessed by mothers' blood, he will have the knowledge of all times. Power enough to break the seal between worlds, he shall be the bringer of light and Great Chaos shall revere him._

Sam read the words several times, trying to divine their meaning. They hadn't changed a syllable since the first read-through, and each time he felt chills rippling through his soul.

_Child of fire. Could mean a lot of things. Hell, that could be Dean! Didn't have to mean **Sam** Winchester._

_Twice blessed by mothers' blood. Mom, obviously. Although he couldn't remember, a drunken John had once told him everything about that night. About the blood that dripped onto his forehead. So the other mother was who, Jessica? He still woke up some nights with the feeling of warm wetness on his brow. But the other couldn't be Jess. A nasty car accident when she was fourteen had removed any chance of her having children. What was he missing?_

A twinge from one of his many still-healing wounds reminded him of something he had tried to force to the back of mind.

_The Fouke. Sam's visions of the creature's life had shown him that the creature had undergone dichogamy, changed from male to female for the purposes of procreation, due to the death of its mate. It had, in fact, been pregnant when Dean – no - the shifter had blown its brains out…all over Sam._

_That's two. The knowledge of all times probably referred to his visions._

_The other things - power, bringer of light, Great Chaos - they made no sense. He needed to do some research. He needed to (sigh) talk to John Winchester._

"How did you know?" Sam gestured with the book. "I never heard of this until the shape-shifter called me 'Bringer'." A memory, long lost, gave lie to that statement and teased him with the image of Santa Claus. Damn. He really needed to get some sleep.

Dean's head snapped around at that information. The shifter knew? God, what else out there knew what Sam was? What he could do?

"Dean? Please tell me."

"Tell me about your vision first."

"Deeeaann!"

"Saaaammmm!"

"Fine," huffed Sam. He turned his head and stared out the window as he recounted his vision. When he was finished, he glanced at Dean and saw his brother running his fingers over his lips.

Sam gave Dean a small smile, touched him gently on the arm, and said, "Hey. They're fine. I checked, remember? Now it's your turn."

Dean had a happy, panicky moment thinking that Sam wanted Dean to kiss him. Luckily his upstairs brain caught on and kept him from doing something monumentally stupid. Dean blew out a heavy sigh and told Sam everything. Dad's journal scribblings about the Bringer, Dean's own dreams and visions, everything. Except the part where he killed their father and sucked Sam off. And the part about Eros and the fact that the brothers were supposed to have sex so that Sam wouldn't get possessed by a demon or something worse that wanted to use Sam's powers to destroy the world. Other than that, yeah. Everything.

Sam had been learning to read Dean since the day he was born, so it didn't take a genius to know that his brother was hiding something. They would hit Ouray in about an hour and he would face his father for the first time in years, for the first time since those awful words were spoken. Dad had seemed sincere on the phone, but it hadn't taken long for him to start ordering Sam around again and for the two of them to start in on the fighting. Sam made a vow that he would do better this time and keep his mouth shut. Once they did what they had to do then he and Dean would leave, and Sam would make Dean spill his guts.

* * *

Sorry about the delay. I tried to post this for hours yesterday and pftt! Nothing. I have been a little distracted recently with Transformers and Psych, but I'm back for now. BTW, yesterday I read the Supernatural novel Nevermore. Pretty good, although there is no slash. Ha! Could you imagine finding that in Walmart? 

Anyway, this is kind of a nothing chapter, but they had to get to Ouray, Dean had to find the picture, and Sam had to know about the prophecy before meeting John and Rezzy.

Which is coming up in the next chapter. Stay tuned!


	22. Chapter 22

**The Bringer – 22**

**

* * *

**

Sam kept silent the rest of the way to their destination, a small cemetery on the west side of town. Lights from the caretaker's lodge led them up the winding drive. Dean felt a tremendous sense of relief at the sight of John's black pickup. That relief was short-lived as he saw another vehicle, a dusty, rust-colored van. It was familiar, but he couldn't remember from where. This gap in his memory tickled his subconscious as he and Sam approached the lodge.

Dean glanced sideways at Sam; the younger man was obviously still tearing himself up over the whole Bringer thing. Dean tried to reassure his little brother saying, "C'mon, Sammy. It's not like it's the end of the world."

Sam flashed to the vision of Dean's crucifixion and the strange colors of the sky. "Apparently, that's exactly what it is. What do you think 'open the door between worlds' means, Dean? It's not gong to be all Smurfs and Care Bears. We're talking demons, shades, plagues; everyone's worst nightmares come true."

Dean stopped on the stairs to the lodge and asked, half-jokingly, "So, it could be Care Bears?"

"Dean! I'm being serious! This thing…I'm going to kill people."

Dean grabbed Sam's elbow, spun him around, and pushed Sam against the door of the lodge. Dean's finger poked painfully into Sam's chest as Dean barked, "No, Sam! No! That's not you. You save people. You save lives, you…you save souls. You make people believe they can be better, that they deserve better than whatever life dumps on them."

The impact of Dean's impassioned outburst was lost as the door opened and Sam tumbled backwards into his father's waiting arms.

"Sammy," greeted John softly as he helped his youngest stand. Sam turned to face his father for the first time in four years.

"It's good to see you, son," John smiled, eyes filling. He laughed and said, "You got so big."

"Dad," Sam leaned into his father's embrace.

Dean rejected the urge to pull Sam away from their father. John had no way of knowing what had happened, but the tiny tremors wracking Sam's tall frame were not solely due to the poignant reunion. Sam was developing a fear of touch thanks to the shifter and its sudden disappearance. Dean was glad that Sam's fear did not extend to him. Puzzled, but glad.

John released Sam and extended his hand to his eldest. Dean, expecting a handshake, placed his hand in his father's. John gave a half-smile and pulled Dean in for a hug. "Dean."

Dean closed his eyes and let himself just feel the moment. The boys were raised as warriors, so this kind of thing didn't happen often. Dean soaked it up.

John broke away first and asked, "Did you have any trouble?"

Dean waited for Sam to fess up, but the younger man clenched his jaw and tilted his head at a familiar stubborn angle.

"No," Dean answered. "We did pick up on a bunch of killings along the highway. Police chatter has it at three so far, but they can't be sure since it's only body parts. Is that the hunt?"

John slowed his stride but responded, "No, but maybe we can check it out when we are finished here."

"Dad," asked Sam, "Why are we here? You said it was important." Dean thwacked Sam on the head and the boys traded looks and 'dude, what?!'gestures.

"It is, Sammy," said John as he led the boys into the kitchen. "Important enough to call in a little back-up."

John stepped to the side to give the brothers their first glimpse of the other person in the lodge. Reginald Lazare.

"Rezzy!?" Sam could hardly believe that he was seeing their old tracking teacher. The giant was instantly recognizable, and Sam's surprise at seeing him after so long overrode his newfound unease around others. "God, it's been what, ten years? You haven't changed a bit. Well, you have gotten shorter."

"Hello, Stringbean." Rezzy laughed and stepped forward to envelope Sam in a bear hug. "And I haven't shrunk; you've just been eating your veggies."

Heaven. Rezzy was in heaven. His love was wrapped safely in his arms, and soon their souls would be bound for eternity. He couldn't resist smirking at Dean as his arms rubbed soothing circles on Sammy's back. The urge to pull his brace of pistols and kill John and Dean right there, right now, was almost irresistible. Instead, he patted Sam once more and released him. Rezzy needed John for a little while longer. He would be patient.

John had pointedly positioned himself next to Dean. This allowed him to catch Dean's hand before his gun could clear its holster. With a firm shake and a silent glare, John forced Dean to ease off.

Dean was furious, not only with Rezzy, macking all over Sam, but also with John for bringing this man back into their lives. Dean knew John hadn't forgotten what Rezzy had done to Sam after the Parlingua thing. So why was he letting this sicko back into their lives?

Still, Sam's happy chatter as he sat next to Rezzy at the kitchen table cooled Dean's anger enough so that he too could sit in the same room with the tracker.

John kept an eye on Dean while he dished up four bowls of thick stew. Both Dean and Sam were surprised at the delicious smell and the subsequent rumbling of their stomachs. It had been a long time since John had cooked for his boys. This was a recipe he had learned from Mary, and it was always for a special occasion. Dean and Sam thought it was in celebration of the reunion between father and sons; Rezzy and John knew it really meant good-bye.

When the stew bowls were licked clean, John fetched a round of drinks. Whiskey for Dean and the older men; beer for Sammy. Again, the boys believed this to be another act of sensitivity on their father's part. Again, they were wrong.

* * *

I am working on the rest and hope to post more tonight. I wanted y'all to know that no, I have not fallen into the void. I found my muse again. Not surprisingly, it was hiding on the CW, Thursday nights, at eight o'clock. Woo-hoo! I still don't have my email account back, but feel free to drop me a line in a review or at leev96 at hotmail dot com. 


	23. Chapter 23

**The Bringer – 23**

Hey, heed the rating, OK? If you've come this far, then you probably know what is coming. Not much here, just some looking and non-con touching. You are warned.

* * *

John and Rezzy kept the conversation light, much to Dean's irritation. Dean wanted to get on with the hunt, to get Sam away from the tracker, but the older men seemed determined to keep the younger two in the dark. Dean glanced at Sam and his anger fell away. Although not out for the count, Sam was definitely drooping. 

_College boy still can't hold his liquor. It wasn't even real alcohol, just beer._

Dean peeked at Sam's bottle and couldn't restrain the smirk.

_Ha! Not even a whole beer. Lightweight._

Dean immediately felt guilty. Sam was under incredible stress and was still recovering from his physical injuries. Maybe Dad and the perv were right. They could get a fresh start tomorrow.

* * *

Sam felt tired, but surprisingly good. He was aware of the others in the room, but he was focused on the warmth generated by Rezzy's knee pressing against his own. It wasn't intentional, he was sure; the table was just really small for four such big guys. Sam stretched, luxuriating in the warmth continuing to spread throughout his body. His T-shirt rode up, exposing a line of taut, tan belly. 

John had stepped out for a few moments, giving Dean a warning glare. His absence spared John the sight of his youngest son sprawling wantonly, head thrown back, hands running down his chest and stomach to rest against his groin, rubbing gently. He was also spared the sight of his eldest son and Rezzy gaping at Sam with lust-filled eyes.

Sam felt strange. He felt more in touch with, well, everything. It's like his senses were wide open. He could hear the creak of the wood floor as his father made his way back toward the kitchen. He could smell the tang of whiskey on Dean's breath as his brother leaned closer. Sam could even feel the presence of numerous spirits, some lingering in the cemetery, others – a lot of others – like a pressure wave coming closer as if drawn to him. Startling, but the languid feeling persisted, spread, and prevented him from caring much. That was okay. Dean would take out anything before it had a chance to get near Sam. God, he loved his brother. So much.

* * *

Dean knew he was staring. Knew he was staring at his little brother and thinking how fucking edible Sam looked. The moans and little movements of hands and body stoked the fire burning in his gut. He probably wanted Sam more in that moment, in that dingy little kitchen in the middle of a dingy little cemetery with an enemy sitting across from him, than he had ever wanted Sam before. And that was saying a lot. Dean managed to rip his eyes away from Sam's display and wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth before his Dad entered. 

John's appearance brought a façade of normalcy as the three sat up with blank expressions. John wasn't fooled for a moment.

"Rezzy, why don't you show Sammy where he'll be tonight? Dean, stay. I want to talk to you for a minute." John reinforced his 'request' with an iron grip on Dean's shoulder as Dean tried to rise.

Dean seethed as he waited for Sammy to get out of earshot then turned on his father.

"Dad! What the hell were you thinking? First you let that bastard join us for a hunt, after we swore never again, then you practically throw Sam at his feet! Don't you remember what happened? That sick fuck…"

"Never actually hurt Sammy," interrupted John as he took a seat next to Dean. "He was asleep when it happened. He wasn't afraid of Rezzy then, and I don't want him to be afraid now."

A cold lump settled in Dean's stomach. "Why not?"

John peered deeply into the amber liquid he was swirling around his glass. He lifted the glass and drained its contents then asked, "Have you ever heard of The Bringer prophecy?"

That cold lump started to creep upward, nearly gagging Dean with dread.

"Yes."

John had only to look in his eldest's eyes to see that Dean knew the truth about Sam.

"I spoke with Missouri. She's been having…feelings…seeing things, hearing things. She thinks, no, she knows that Sam is the child of that _goddamned_ prophecy. She told me to…to get him some help to fight off what's coming."

"What is coming?" John almost didn't hear Dean's whispered question.

John looked his boy in the eye and said, "Chaos."

* * *

Sam was feeling very strange now. The warmth still coursed through his body, but that pressure wave was getting tougher to ignore. Something was coming, rushing out of the darkness towards him, ravenous, desirous. Sam needed something…a shield or a…what? What was Rezzy doing? Why couldn't he move very well?

* * *

Rezzy didn't know how much time he had. John and he had planned and prepared for this, but Dean was a wildcard. For that reason, Rezzy decided to hurry the process just a bit. Rezzy felt Sammy trembling as the tracker made quick work of removing the young man's clothing. He picked up Sammy, carrying him like a child, carefully stepped through the rings of salt and spells, and lay him down on the cool altar stone. Moments later, the young man was securely chained on his back, arms stretched to each side, legs secured so as to limit their movement. 

_Glorious._

Rage filled Rezzy as he looked at his love's nude body.

_What had happened?_

Sammy's torso and inner thighs were bruised, and his upper body was criss-crossed with cuts and scrapes. Someone had violated Sammy. Someone had taken something that belonged only to Reginald Lazare. That someone would pay dearly for their actions. When the ritual was complete, Rezzy would find out who had done this thing, and he would destroy them. Utterly.

It might have been Dean, but Rezzy didn't really believe that. He almost wished it was Dean; that smug little prick deserved some payback for banishing him from Sammy's side so many years ago. It would be too bad, though, because, of course, Dean had to die quickly if Rezzy and Sammy were to ever have any peace.

Rezzy wasted no more time as he stripped then laid his large body over Sammy's smaller one. He began to softly stroke the younger man's tender skin, delighting in the various textures and the goose bumps his touches raised in their wake. He peppered Sammy's face with kisses, ignoring Sammy's quiet pleas to stop. Rezzy would never stop. Not until Sammy was completely his. Rezzy dipped his head for their first kiss but was thwarted when Sammy jerked his face to the right. Rezzy, impatient, grasped Sammy's chin and held his face firmly. Rezzy ruthlessly plundered Sammy's mouth, glorying in this newfound taste.

Victory was sweet.

* * *

I don't think I like Rezzy very much. He wouldn't let me sleep until he had at least kissed Sam. Now poor Sammy has to wait until tomorrow to get that nasty man off him. However, poor Sammy may wish I had left well enough alone by the time I get through. Muhuwhah-ha-ha!!! 

Please review!!


	24. Chapter 24

**The Bringer – 24**

* * *

"_What is coming?" John almost didn't hear Dean's whispered question._

_John looked his boy in the eye and said, "Chaos."_

* * *

"_Chaos_ chaos or like, regular chaos? 'Cause we don't need any help with that." 

John chuffed, amused at Dean's confidence that the Winchesters could handle, _like, regular chaos_.

"Dad, I know what the prophecy says, but Sam? He's not the type."

"Of course not. But his abilities…Missouri says they're growing faster than Sam can build shields to control them. In the meantime, he's like a lighthouse, an entire seaboard of lighthouses, a beacon for anything and everything that craves power. One possession, and it's over. The spirit, demon, whatever, would use Sam for its own purposes."

John refilled his glass and took another sip.

"If we had more time, we wouldn't need Rezzy. There are spells, talismans we could find or even create, but time is exactly what we don't have."

"How can Rezzy possibly help?" Dean would swallow his pride, his anger, and his dreams, if it meant Sam would be safe. Oh, and keep the world safe, too.

John couldn't meet his son's eyes as he explained about a certain ritual, a plea for protection to one of Chaos' children, a god named Eros.

Dean was struck speechless. This was bad, real bad. He reached for his own drink, saw that it was empty, and so grabbed Sam's half-empty beer. He raised the bottle to his lips, but John moved like lightning, batting the drink out of Dean's hands. The brown bottle shattered against the cabinets.

"Dad! What the hell?"

John still couldn't meet Dean's eyes.

He didn't have to. The night's events flicked through the young hunter's mind. The delay tactics; the drinks – the same for the older men, but Sammy, well he got something special, didn't he? Something more than just a beer.

Dean's voice was dead calm as he asked his father, "What did you do?"

No response from John spurred Dean from his chair. He grabbed his father by his collar and forced him up against the nearest wall.

Dean screamed into his father's face.

"What did you do? What did you do to Sam?"

John knew he deserved Dean's wrath, but he needed Dean to listen. He broke Dean's hold and the two struggled for dominance. Finally, John managed to push Dean away and get the table between them.

"I will ask you one more time. What did you give Sammy?"

"It was a cocktail of things. Broom leaf, anise, coriander. Some yarrow and hellebore with enough alcohol and extracts to disguise the taste."

Dean paled further with each successive ingredient. Hellebore?! That shit was dangerous. Not only could too much kill a person, but also it was a key element in summoning rituals. They had had to perform more than one exorcism because of some wanna-be's stupidity messing with things best left alone. And Dad, the man Dean trusted above all others, had willfully fed this to Sam. He had to ask the question.

"Why? God, Dad, why?"

As John answered, his face showed his age and the shame he felt at the betrayal of his children.

"The herbs react in the body to lower inhibitions. More importantly they…lower…psychic shields, leaving the person open to suggestion."

Dean caught the pause in his father's explanation. He carefully drew his gun and placed it on the table. John took the action for what it was - a threat. Come clean now or he would be picking lead out of his body. _If_ Dean didn't go for a head shot.

"The hellebore. It doesn't just force mental shields lower. It pretty much obliterates them. It leaves the person's…Sammy's…mind wide open. He has no defense now against possession or, in this case, against a binding ritual. He'll have to accept Rezzy into his mind or be possessed by whatever gets here first."

Dean's horror at what his father had done was evident in those hazel eyes. Dean just shook his head in disbelief, picked up his weapon, and turned to go find Sam.

John took the opportunity to bring home one of the first rules of hunting.

_Never turn your back on the enemy._

* * *

That's probably it for a few days. Gotta watch my Prison Break tonight, and then I go out of town on business for a few days. Of course, if I get lots of reviews i might have to lose sleep and get out another chapter! 


	25. Chapter 25

**The Bringer – 25**

OK. Sad things are afoot here. John is coming off as a complete a-hole, but keep in mind, he loves his children and would do anything, sacrifice anything, to ensure their survival. Even if it means, well, read on...

* * *

_Dean's horror at what his father had done was evident in those hazel eyes. Dean just shook his head in disbelief, picked up his weapon and turned to find Sam._

_John took the opportunity to bring home one of the first rules of hunting._

_Never turn your back on the enemy._

* * *

The father gently guided the son's unconscious body to the floor of the kitchen. He pulled off his jacket and bundled it beneath Dean's head, careful of the spot where John had hit him. He didn't waste time tying Dean's hands; the boy could get out of just about any knot John knew how to tie. Besides, with Rezzy's obsession with Sam, the binding ritual wouldn't take long. They would be done before Dean came to. 

The hunter was unsurprised to find that Rezzy had started without him. As he stepped closer to the ritual altar, John had misgivings about his chosen course of action.

Sammy, his baby, _Mary's baby,_ lay sprawled helpless beneath the undulating body of the tracker. Sam saw him approaching and redoubled his futile efforts to prevent what was happening. John understood the effort of will that had Sammy focus his drugged mind and beg his father for salvation.

"Dad, help me. Make…make him stop."

No. No, he had to be strong. This was for the best. Sammy needed someone to protect him; someone strong; a hunter who loved him. Rezzy may be twisted, but John believed that the other man loved Sammy, would give his life for John Winchester's youngest son.

John shook off his doubts. Conscious of Sam's eyes, those soulful eyes filling with incomprehension, John hardened his heart against the boy's pleas, opened the text, and began to recite the ritual. Periodically, John would draw sigils on Sam's forehead with lamb's blood.

"Why, Daddy? Why?"

John's voice never faltered, though his hands may have trembled. He was ready when Rezzy penetrated Sam. Now came the hard part. Before the binding was complete, Rezzy would have to orgasm. And before that…

Sammy would have to ask him to.

Sam was, of course, being his usual stubborn self. The two men were relentlessly cajoling Sam, urging him to just give in, to ask for the bond. In his heart of hearts, John reveled in Sam's stubborn refusal. He may not have given Sam the love of hunting as he had Dean, but that mulishness, even in the face of this desecration, well, that was pure John Winchester.

Rezzy, who had been very gentle with Sammy until now, wanted this over soon. He and Sammy had a life to start together, and Rezzy had some people to kill. He angled his thrusts to hit Sammy's sweet spot. Rezzy began pumping faster, harder, and using his hand to stroke the young man to fullness.

"I can go for hours, Sammy. I know you don't want this yet, but you will. Say it, Sammy. Say you need this. You need me."

"Noooo!" Sam cursed the betrayal of his body. He flashed back to his ordeal with the shifter.

"Dean! I need Dean!"

The volume and vehemence of Sam's outraged cry surprised everyone.

Especially a bloody Dean Winchester, currently standing outside this particular circle of hell.

With a shotgun.

And one hell of a will to use it.

"Get. The Fuck. Off. My. Brother."

* * *

I'm dedicating this chap-let to my fervent fans, especially my crazy stalker person. I hope this will tide you over for a while. I really am going out of town tomorrow sans laptop, so this is it until at least Friday. 

If anyone is confused about Rezzy, please read my story "The Parlingua." It gives Rezzy his motivations and a little backstory on his history with the Winchesters.

Enjoy!


	26. Chapter 26

**The Bringer – 26**

* * *

Dean was the one who recognized the signs of a vision. He had never been successful in bringing Sam out of one before, so he squatted next to Sam's chair, put his hand on Sam's shoulder, and prepared to wait it out. Sam's response was…surprising. 

The youngest snapped upright and seemed to stare straight through John. Sam grabbed the half-empty bottle, flipped it so that he was holding it by the neck, and swung sharply. Shards of glass and bubbling beer shattered against Rezzy's temple and knocked the giant out. At nearly the same moment, Sam reached behind him for his gun, which he then proceeded to cock and aim between John Winchester's eyes.

Dean landed on his butt, staring at Sam in shock.

"Dude! What the hell are you doing?"

Dean stood and tried to push Sam's gun hand down to get their father out of the line of fire. When Sam shook him off, Dean said sternly, "Sam, put it away, or you might hurt Dad."

"That's not Dad."

Dean trusted Sam's visions, so he whipped around and also pointed a gun at the thing with his father's face.

"A shifter?" asked Dean.

"No," said Sam. "A god."

The John Winchester façade broke and with a shimmer of darkness the God of Love appeared. A mad smile graced the lovely man's features as he said, "Very good, Sam. I'm impressed. How did you guess?"

"The wendigo scar. It's on the wrong side of your face. Shape-shifters keep the same skin patterns."

"And the only things that flip features are demi-gods or gods," finished Dean. He thought back to seeing their father at the lodge door. Dean pushed closer to Eros, forcing the gun between the god's eyes.

"Where is our Dad? He was here. He was the one who cooked for us."

Eros eyed Dean and said, "He's in the cellar. We switched places when he went to get the ritual text. Nice, Dean. You're not as stupid as I thought."

Dean was embarrassed. And when he was embarrassed, he tended to strike out at the things around him. It felt really good to punch Eros right in that lying mouth. The little bitch had totally played him. Eros had fed off of Dean's desire to protect and desire for Sam and had used it for…what?

"Go ahead, Dean. Ask. I know you want to." Eros' eyes flicked to Sam. "Sam's already figured it out. Nobody really expects you to pick up on these things."

Sam saved Dean the humiliation of asking his tormentor anything by explaining, "He's jealous, Dean. Eons of being the most honored of Chaos' children, the most revered. Now I come along. A simple human who will never really know, never even see, any of the Old Ones, especially Chaos. Suddenly, he's not the favorite anymore."

Sam stepped to within inches of Eros' face and said in a child's sing-song voice, "And he caaan't stand it."

Eros' face flushed with fury, and his eyes glittered with hate, fierce and endless. Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him roughly away. Dean placed himself firmly in front of Eros and said, "Now, Sammy. Don't taunt the crazies. Dad raised you better than that."

Eros' head exploded in a deafening blast.

Sam and Dean turned stunned faces to the figure in the doorway holding a sawed off shotgun.

"He's right, Sammy," said John Winchester. "I did."

* * *

Snort! Snarfle! Hahahahha! 

I'm mean. John is totally a good guy! Rezzy gets a beer shampoo! Eros is the real a-hole here.

Another mini chapter, but I got back early, so I decided to send this out as is.

Brenda – you are indeed my crazy stalker. Love the reviews – keep 'em coming. (Umm, is it wrong to encourage this type of thing?).

Phx – I hope you're sticking with the story. Apparently, my brilliant foreshadowing techniques need a lot of work. You are one of my absolute favorite authors, and I treasure your feedback.

More tomorrow! Or maybe Saturday. Naaaaah!

Tomorrow.


	27. Chapter 27

**The Bringer – 27**

_

* * *

Eros' face flushed with fury, and his eyes glittered with hate, fierce and endless. Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him roughly away. Dean placed himself firmly in front of Eros and said, "Now, Sammy. Don't taunt the crazies. Dad raised you better than that." __Eros' head exploded in a deafening blast._

_Sam and Dean turned stunned faces to the figure in the doorway holding a sawed off shotgun._

"_He's right, Sammy," said John Winchester. "I did."_

* * *

The Winchester men watched dispassionately as the body – and bits of skull – seemed to melt into the floor. In seconds, the God of Love was gone, back to wherever he came from to lick his wounds. John lowered the gun and swayed unsteadily. Dean and Sam rushed to his side and assisted the older man to a chair. John waved off their concern and motioned toward Rezzy. 

"Take him downstairs and tie him up." The brothers made quick work of their task then rejoined their father in the kitchen.

John stared pointedly at Sam and said, "I'm guessing you had a good reason for that."

Sam looked at Dean, lost for a place to start. To the boys' surprise, John asked, "Did you see something?"

Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, offering support or restraint, as Sam asked angrily, "You knew? You knew about the visions? And you didn't say anything?"

Dean was fuming when John nodded acquiescence to Sam's question.

_How could Dad keep something so important from him? How could he be expected to protect Sam if he didn't know about stuff like this?_

"Missouri told me, a few weeks ago. She says you're the real thing, Sammy. One of the strongest she's ever seen. She's the one who pointed out the prophecy and how to protect you."

Sam gulped at this confirmation of his father's culpability. Dean moved his hand to the back of Sam's neck and rubbed lightly.

"And the two of you thought that tricking us into coming here, sacrificing me on the altar of 'John Winchester Knows Best', would make everything fine? What about my feelings, Dad? What about my freedom not tomention my life?"

John seemed taken aback by Sam's anger.

"There was no time to sit you down and explain what had to happen. And anything that happens now, tonight, is entirely your choice."

Sam pounded his hand on the table and shouted, "No, no it isn't! How can you sit there, look me in the eye, and say that it's up to me? Did I choose to drink poison, to be a damned bug light for every demon in a hundred mile radius?"

"Poison?" The question came to Sam in stereo. This was the first time that John and Dean heard about poison.

"The beer? Your witches brew? In my vision, you said it would lower psychic shields. Well congratulations, Dad, it works. I can feel them coming, and they are getting closer."

"Sammy, no" his dad whispered, "I would never risk you like that."

Dean heard a concerned father. Sam heard a man who was willing to put him at risk in other ways.

"The herbs were just to loosen you up, get you to relax long enough to listen to me. God knows we haven't been able to talk about a hunt without arguing in years. Missouri said they would also let you make more sense of information you're already receiving."

John stood slowly. When his balance was assured, he moved toward the back of the lodge and called the boys after him.

"We've put strong wards up around the house and the cemetery. If you can feel something that far out, we should get to the circle."

Dean made to follow his father when Sam tugged on his sleeve. Dean took in the sad, scared face of his little brother, looked around to make sure they weren't being watched, then pulled Sam close and hugged him tightly.

"Nothing bad is going to happen, I swear. I'll be right beside you the whole time."

He pushed Sam away and followed the hallway that had claimed John. "C'mon, Samantha. Let's see what the old man's got up his sleeve."

* * *

The cemetery looked the same as it had in Sam's vision, right down to the rings of salt and piles he identified as spell workings. Pretty strong ones, too. And there, smack in the center, was the altar slab on which he had been held down and… 

_Shake it off, Sam. It was just a vision. It never happened. We've already changed things, and Dean won't let Dad do anything._

John was standing by the slab, which hit him at hip level.

"Watch your step. It took almost two days to get the protections right."

Dean walked confidently into the circles, though his trust in his father was hanging by a thread. John could see it in the way Dean moved, not turning his back on John all the while keeping his body between the eldest and youngest Winchesters. John was saddened by this lapse of faith, but, if Sam hadn't had his vision, John could well imagine what would have happened. And the boys would have believed that John was the one responsible.

As Sam followed Dean to the center of the rings, he found the fear and panic easing. By the time he reached the other men, he was completely relaxed. He could still sense the onrush of spirits, but it had become a tickle rather than a crushing wave.

John could see the difference on his child's face and gave silent thanks that at least he hadn't screwed up on this one thing.

"Sam, tell us about your vision."

Dean plunked down onto the slab next to John, but Sam wasn't ready to touch that cold marble again. Instead he paced, carefully, and gave them the whole story. Drugs, betrayal; enslavement the ultimate goal.

_Well, shit, John. No wonder Sam beaned Rezzy. Lucky he hadn't killed the bastard. John would have had to find a reanimation spell so that he could kill Lazare all over again. No matter. He would take care of that loose end after the boys were safely away._

"Your turn, Dad," said Dean. "Sam fessed up. Now tell us why the whole cloak and dagger thing? Why Rezzy?"

John explained that Missouri had put him onto an ancient spell – an Eros bond – which would grant Sam protection from possession by binding him body and soul to another. Missouri had suggested that the other person be someone who would understand the risks of the supernatural. John took that to mean a hunter. No way was he trusting his child to just anyone, though. He wanted someone strong, fast, intelligent, and who would love Sam utterly. John had racked his brains for hunters who fit the bill and came up with only three. Rezzy was one; John and Dean Winchester were the others. John had contacted Rezzy and asked for his help. He explained the spell, and Rezzy jumped at the chance without any questions. He had thought he was John's first choice. He was actually a last resort. And one hell of a leverage point to get Dean to perform the ritual with Sam. John kept that part to himself.

"Dad," asked Sam softly, "what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I wanted you and Dean to work this spell. I still do. It's the perfect solution. You won't have to bring a third party into the equation – it would just screw up your hunts."

Dean and Sam looked at one another incredulously. It was Dean's turn to squeak…uh…speak softly, "Dad, you want Sammy and I to fuck?"

It was John's turn for surprise once more.

"What? No!" He had the good grace to look embarrassed as he continued, "Not unless that's what you two want."

Sam took a seat on the slab next to Dean.

"Well, I'm all confused. I thought you wanted us to perform an Eros bond."

Dean chimed in, "Yeah, Dad, couple of flaws there. A sex bond usually requires sex. And I don't think Eros is in the mood to grant us squat, what with him not having a head right now."

John finally saw the light. That _goddamned_ god had really messed with his sons' heads.

"One, it's a _sexual_ bond. Sex and intimacy are not necessarily the same things. Two, while the spell is called an Eros bond, the power is in the ritual. It's the symbols, words, and actions that give it power, not a so-called god who's out whoring his influence.

"Sammy," John continued, "the bond can work with something as small as a kiss. Anything else is entirely your choice. The more intimate the ritual, the stronger the bond, and so the stronger the psychic protection." His wicked sense of humor forced him to wait a few beats before adding, "However, there are consequences to that protection."

"I knew it," Dean snorted. He made a "give it to me" motion and waited for the worst.

"If the two of you do this, that's it as far as 'company' goes. No other women; no other men. The bond won't let you violate the trust placed in you by the other. You need some relief, you settle it between yourselves or plan on visiting Rosy Palm and her five sisters. A lot."

Sam swallowed a laugh, put on his best serious face, and nodded serenely at his father's decree. He knew if he cracked a smile at the horrified faces Dean was making, his brother would sock him.

"But why did Eros lie?"

"He didn't, exactly. From what Sammy described, it _was_ an Eros bond in his vision, albeit a twisted one."

"He wanted me dead. No more competition. For some reason, he couldn't just kill me, so he set us up. If my vision had happened, I wouldn't have been able to stand it, not after…"

"Sam?" asked John as his son's words trailed off. "After what?"

Dean could tell Sam was still not ready to trust his father with the story of the shifter, so he thought on his feet, er, butt, and said, "After being sold out by you."

Sam leaned closer to his brother. Dean could practically feel waves of gratitude flowing from the younger man.

John seemed to accept this answer. He might not have survived either if things had played out differently. No doubt Eros would have taunted the Winchesters with its deception, and if Sam had been lost to them in that way, John knew Dean would not have lasted long.

"So, what do you boys want to do? There are other spells, artifacts, that we could use, but they'll be hard to find or create. Missouri's afraid your powers will become too attractive to some seriously bad things real soon."

"I think she's probably right," stated Sam matter-of-factly. "I can see them. They're circling the cemetery."

* * *

Duh-duh-dummmm. (Cue scary music) 

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know the last one was a little confusing. I really should have waited and posted it with this one, but I got excited. We are nearing the end!

Please send reviews. They are delicious, nutritious, and taste just like chicken!


	28. Chapter 28

**The Bringer – 28**

lelann37 - I borrowed a phrase from your last review. It was hysterical and so had to be used.

Liana-chan - Thank you, and yes, people often compliment me on my lovely red eyes.

* * *

"_So, what do you boys want to do? There are other spells, artifacts, that we could use, but they'll be hard to find or create. Missouri is afraid your powers will become too attractive to some seriously bad things real soon."_

"_I think she's probably right," stated Sam matter-of-factly. "I can see them. They're circling the cemetery."_

_

* * *

_

Weapons appeared as if by magic in the hands of the Winchesters. A scan of the area showed figures moving stealthily through the trees. Disturbing. More disturbing, however, was the fact that these figures moving with inhuman grace and speed were human. At least, human-looking. Most of the congregating forms were clad in what appeared to be sleepwear. The hunters' hearts clenched as they noted some of the encroachers were smaller than the others. Children.

"They're townspeople," said John as he scanned the faces with a powerful flashlight. He focused on one in particular. "That one is the caretaker, Josiah. He's supposed to stay with his sister and her family for a few days." The light revealed what all had feared. Josiah's eyes were blacker than black; he was possessed.

The figures continued to move closer, stopping only when their toes reached the outer ring of salt. The Winchesters could hear the angry hissing as access to the Bringer was denied. Dean felt a film of sweat break out on his body as he recalled his own little vision: this cemetery, Sam on the altar being possessed by one of these things, then the other stuff that he had been trying so very hard to forget. Dean moved closer to Sam.

"Sammy? It's your call. They can't break the circles, so you're safe here."

Sam considered for a few moments then asked, "How long will it take to make a talisman for me?"

"Um, guys…" Dean tried to get his family's attention.

"I brought the books. We've got plenty of bones to choose from, some silver. With you and Dean helping? Two, maybe three weeks."

"Guys." Dean's voice was a little sterner now.

Sam blew out the breath he had been holding, waiting for his father's answer.

"That's not bad. I can camp out here, help with the research."

"Dad! Sam!" Dean shook each man's shoulders, determined to get their attention.

"What, Dean?" asked a somewhat exasperated John.

"We don't have that long. Listen."

A soft rhythmic chanting was being taken up by the congregation. _Bringer._ _Bringer._ Over and over and…

"No, not that." A rumble of thunder, louder than the chanting, was heard loud and clear. It was followed by a flash of lightning and…was that a raindrop?

"That."

The family shared a familiar look. Once again, the Winchesters were in deep shit.

"Ah, hell." John's gravelly voice shook with restrained fury. He rubbed a hand over his weary face, the rasp of his whiskers loud in the inner circle. If it rained, the salt and spells would be washed away, and the boys hadn't even decided if they would go for the bond. Looks like that decision was being made for them. "I'm sorry, Sammy. We're not going to have time for anything else."

Sam stepped back from his father, his earlier fears rekindled. Dean felt Sam move even closer. He reached back and clasped his little brother's hand. Sam relaxed a fraction; Dean was still here, and his Dad really did look upset.

"OK." Sam's acquiescence was whispered, but Dean was close enough to hear. A knot of tension untied itself; he had thought Sam might want to make a run for it. Dean would have gone with him, but he knew it would have been a suicide mission. There had to be upwards of fifty possessed Coloradoans surrounding them, and that was one too many for the Winchesters to handle.

John felt overwhelming relief as well at Sam's decision but managed to keep the emotion from his face and voice as he gave the boys their orders. Sam was to sit on the altar and maintain physical contact with Dean – hand holding would do for now. As John drew the sigils on Sam's face in anointing oil (Sam relaxed even more when he realized it wasn't lamb's blood), Dean read the ritual from a fragile, yellowing text. His words picked up speed, as did the chanting and the sprinkling of rain.

The brothers could feel something happening, a charge in the air that had nothing to do with the lightning nearing their location. The last segment of the text explained that each bond mate had to invite the other into their own soul, self, and mind. Dean's tongue tripped over some of the ancient Greek, but Sam's response was clear and precise. They could practically see the energy flowing between them at the juncture of their joined hands.

While it was kind of cool, neither Dean nor Sam felt any fundamental difference, the demons were still chanting, and the rain was still falling. Harder. As they watched, the first salt ring broke and the horde surged forward only to be stopped short by a second ring.

"Dad, it's not working! What do we do now?"

John was hoping that the boys' love for one another, the uncanny bond they already shared, would subsidize the ritual and make a more intimate approach unnecessary.

Apparently not. Winchester luck did not work that way.

"You two need to do something a little more…non-brotherly."

Sam and Dean looked at one another, assessing, then turned quickly away again only to be caught in their father's 'stop wasting time' glare.

Dean cleared his throat and said, "Well, this isn't awkward at all."

Sam couldn't contain a giggle. How crazy were their lives? The Winchester brothers would have to make out – in front of their father, no less – in order to save the world from a mass influx of evil as the 'door between worlds' was ripped open.

Typical.

Sam squeezed his brother's hand. Dean was always doing stuff for him. This was a little extreme, but still. Dean was here. He was willing to protect Sam at any cost to himself, even a piece of his soul.

"Dad? Would you mind…" Sam made a 'turn around' motion with his finger. John startled, then immediately faced away from his children.

Sam looked at Dean and allowed all the love and trust he held for his brother to shine from his eyes. Dean read those eyes that he knew so well and understood that Sam was really okay with this. That was all he needed as he leaned in and kissed Sam.

On the cheek.

Sam laughed out loud then pulled Dean to him for a kiss. A real kiss. A kiss between soul mates. With the force of Sam's grab, Dean thought his mouth was about to be attacked, but Sam surprised him and stopped millimeters away. He gently wet his lips, which brought the tip of his tongue into contact with Dean's lips. Sam closed the distance between them and initiated a kiss between the brothers for a second time in as many days.

Sam remembered vividly the dream-like kisses he had used to battle the awful vision of his Dean, tortured and mutilated. He would do whatever it took to keep that from happening, and really, this…this wasn't bad at all. Dean's mouth was soft and tender, and when those lips parted Sam let his senses be his guide.

_Sight. Hmm, turn that off. Too weird. Besides, that way he wouldn't have to see his father's figure standing near them._

_Sound. Keep it because Dean was making this soft little groan-y sound that seemed to come from deep in his chest. Focus on that, though, 'cause the chanting was kind of distracting._

_Smell. Leather. Dean. Safety and love. Keep it._

_Touch. God yes. Lips soft, mouth warm, and now Dean's hands touching him. Those large hands that h__ad protected Sam all his life were now cupping his face, those thumbs rubbing gently, encouraging him to open wider._

_Taste. Best of all. Dean, pure Dean. With their life, shared cups, toothbrushes, and eating utensils were common. Sam knew this taste probably better than he knew his own. _

Sam wasn't aware when he and Dean had moved to their feet, standing on the altar, making out like lovers for all to see.

Including the lone hunter on the hill to the east, watching, waiting, a high-powered rifle in his hands.

* * *

I'm thinking two, maybe three more chapters. I realized this morning that I have been working on this thing for a year already. Funny how new episodes spur the muse. 


	29. Chapter 29

**The Bringer – 29**

**

* * *

**

_Sam wasn't aware when he and Dean had moved to their feet, standing on the altar for, making out like lovers for all to see._

_Including the lone hunter on the hill to the east, watching, waiting, a high-powered rifle in his hands._

_

* * *

_

Dean was feeling so many emotions; some he recognized while others were less clear. What was echoing through his soul, however, was as familiar as the face in the mirror. Love. Love for Sam. Didn't matter what form it took, it was still love, and it filled those aching, empty spaces inside. He would never be alone again. Even if Sam decided he wanted to quit hunting, go back to school, he would always be a part of Dean, and Dean would always be a part of him.

At the moment Sam came to the same realization, he felt as if something had burst inside. That something spread from his core to envelope first his body then Dean's, then pulsed outward in a violent blast. The force took his breath away, and he had to relinquish his claim on Dean's mouth to gasp for air.

John couldn't see it, but God could he feel it when the bond took hold, and take hold it did - with a vengeance. He was nearly blown off his feet from the pulse, and he had to turn around to see if his boys were still there. They were, clinging to one another, mouths agape at what they had done.

Furious, other-worldly screams brought the Winchester's attention to the crowd that had gathered. The wave hit the throng and virtually ripped the possessing spirits from the innocent by-standers. Ouray citizens woke to find themselves in their pajamas standing, sitting, and lying around a graveyard. Fear and embarrassment urged them homeward. They would have strange stories to share in the morning.

The heavens opened and washed away the remaining rings of salt. Dean held Sam close, ready to fight should something try for his brother. Although Sam could still see many of the spirits, none ventured close enough to be a threat. It seemed they knew he was officially off-limits.

* * *

In the cellar of the caretaker's lodge, Rezzy finally managed to free himself from the ropes used to secure him. He knew not much time had passed as the wound Sammy had given him was still bleeding, though not as profusely. He hurried to the cellar door and kicked it open. The shattering of the lock was loud in the house. Lucky for Rezzy, his kick coincided with a large thunderclap; his escape was undetected. He collected his weapons from the room he had been using and set out to find the Winchesters. 

He peered through the window of the back door and into the cemetery. There was his Sammy, standing with Dean on the altar stone. A ripple, then a tidal wave of power crashed against then through him. Rezzy fell to his knees. It was too late. Sammy had completed the bond with someone else. He took no notice of the tears falling freely, mixing with the drying blood. Sammy would not be his in this life.

Very well. If not this life, then the next. He could accept that. What he couldn't accept was Dean-fucking-Winchester taking his place.

They would all have to die.

* * *

Through the rifle scope, the hunter watched the joy break on the faces of the Winchesters. He had felt the effects of the bond, had seen the dispersion of the townsfolk, and had known his services would not be needed. He wouldn't have to shoot Sammy in the head after all. It was a good day. He packed his things and prepared to move on. 

That's when he saw the giant of a man sneaking out the front of the lodge.

* * *

After some manly handshakes and hugs all-around, John organized the clean-up. No sense leaving tantalizing clues for the locals when their fear receded and they came back for a second look. Dean and Sam followed his orders, eager to get away from this place. 

The sun was rising as the last of the gear was stowed in their respective vehicles, and the boys prepared to say good-bye to their father once more. Dean took John aside while Sam picked through the tape collection littering the back seat of the Impala.

"You're leaving again."

John nodded.

"I have to, son. I'm on to something big. The demon that killed your mother? I'm close; I can feel it. This _Bringer_ thing had to be taken care of first, but now it's time to get back on the trail. I promise I'll call you when it's time to end it. You two will have your part to play."

"What about Rezzy?"

John's face darkened. "I'll take of it."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. It had to be done, and thank God Dad was willing to do it. Dean would take on the responsibility if necessary, but he thought Sam would probably resent it and feel guilty as well. Sam wouldn't see Rezzy as a threat anymore, but the older men knew that was naïve. He was too focused, too obsessed with Sam to ever leave them in peace. Dean nodded.

And turned to see a nightmare. A giant with a blood-caked visage and hate in his eyes.

Rezzy was the best tracker the Winchesters had ever known. Despite his size, he was quiet as a summer breeze when he was hunting, and he was definitely hunting now. His prey trembled in his arms.

Sam.

The man had come upon him so silently, so swiftly, that Sam had no time to react. Gone was the gentleness with which Rezzy had always treated him. The man wrenched Sam out of the car, delivered a stunning blow to Sam's head, and spun him around to act as a shield against Sam's family.

Dean and John both drew their weapons and trained them on the two figures slowly backing toward the rust-colored van.

"Let him go, Lazare! It's over."

"I know, John. I felt it. I felt it the moment the two of you stole my dream away. And now I'm going to steal yours."

Rezzy finished maneuvering himself and his hostage to the van. He had unlocked it while the Winchesters were still in the house, so the side door slid open easily.

Dean took a few steps forward but froze when Rezzy jammed the gun harder into Sam's throat, forcing a pained grunt from his brother.

"You don't have to do this. It's not Sam's fault. You want to blame someone, you blame me." Dean stood straight and dropped his gun. Arms out to his side, he approached the van slowly. "Let him go. Take me instead. I'm the one you're really pissed at, right? I'm the one who found you with Sam ten years ago. I kept you away from him then, and I'm keeping him from you now."

"Dean, no, don't…" Sam was choked off as Rezzy tightened his hold. Sam was confused at Dean's words, but he was more afraid of what Dean was doing.

Dean presented a tempting target. He was close enough that Rezzy could easily put a bullet between those pretty eyes. If he were lucky, maybe he would even be sprayed with the smaller man's blood. But that's what Dean wanted, wasn't it? For Rezzy to move the gun away from Sam in order to give John his shot.

Rezzy had a better idea. This battle of wills between Dean and him had started ten years ago. It should finish between them as well.

Decision made, he told Dean, "Take 17 to Whispering Pines. We'll be at the bend in the woods. You win, Sam's yours. I win, I slit his throat."

Rezzy even had the perfect blade in mind. It was a beautiful silver blade engraved with their names. It was going to be his gift to Sam after they had bonded. Rezzy had planned on baptizing the blade with the blood of Sam's brother, but now it seemed as if Sam would be the blade's first and final sheath.

"And Dean, in case you're thinking about jumping me when we get in?"

In one smooth motion Rezzy pushed the gun hard into Sam's throat, thus gagging and incapacitating the young man. Then, turning the weapon onto the older Winchester, he fired.

* * *

It won't affect the pace of my postings, but it would be awesome to get to 250 reviews. Pweez? 


	30. Chapter 30

**The Bringer – 30**

**

* * *

**

_In one smooth motion Rezzy pushed the gun hard into Sam's throat, thus gagging and incapacitating the young man. Then, turning the weapon onto the older Winchester, he fired._

_

* * *

_

The bullet hit John Winchester in the chest, and he fell to the ground. Cool redness spread, staining the shirt beneath his jacket.

Rezzy laughed.

"You can't save them both, Dean!"

Rezzy heaved Sam bodily into the van and quickly joined him. A quick uppercut eliminated the need for restraints.

Dean was torn even as he raced to his father's side. The only thing that kept him from leaping into the van for Sam was the fact that he knew Rezzy would keep the young man alive at least until he had a chance to kill Dean.

Dean slid to his knees beside his father's prone form. With trembling fingers, he felt for a pulse…and found it right away, strong and steady. Dean couldn't believe it. The red stain was still spreading. He pulled back his father's jacket to reveal John Winchester's flask, which was made of consecrated iron. The flask, punctured by Rezzy's bullet, had been used to carry the anointing oil for the ritual. The red-tinged anointing oil. John was fine albeit bruised, but the impact had knocked him unconscious.

Dean turned John gently onto his side. "I'm sorry, Dad. You'll be fine, but I gotta go save Sam."

* * *

Sam remembered nothing of his ride in the van. His next lucid moments were agony. He was standing practically on tiptoes in darkness, hands bound behind him. At first he thought Rezzy had blinded him, but when he forced the panic aside he could feel the blindfold over his eyes. New panic rushed in as he found breathing difficult. Something…a noose?...constricted his throat, and if he sagged at all the noose got tighter. 

Sam's heart leapt as he heard the rumbling of the Chevy's engine, but he was fearful as well. No way would Rezzy go through all this trouble then leave him here. It was a trap for Dean, and his brother would walk right in. Dean would know, of course, but that wouldn't stop him from coming after Sam, especially now.

Sam heard the car stop and the door open. Sure-footed steps made their way quickly to Sam's side. Sam was struggling, trying to call out to Dean, to get him to turn around and go back to Dad, but all that came out was a painful-sounding wheeze.

"Whoa, easy there, Sammy. You're OK. I'm gonna get you down. Everything will be fine." Sam listened closely to his brother's voice, his light in the darkness. Dean continued to whisper comforting words, and Sam nearly strangled himself with relief when he heard their father was safe. Soon, he was free of the ropes, and he accepted Dean's assistance in removing the blindfold.

Although it was past daybreak, the woods at the bend in the road contained tall trees whose limbs and leaves filtered the sun's rays. Sam gazed at his brother through the mottled light and wiped at his gummy eyes, trying to clear his vision. Something was off.

"I can't believe you just walked in here, boy. You have a pretty big opinion of yourself." Rezzy's voice echoed through the small clearing. Sam and his rescuer twisted to face the tracker as he emerged from behind one of the larger trees. The gun in Rezzy's hand was rock steady.

"I was hoping for a little more of a challenge. I even put on my custom-made bullet proof vest for the occasion." Rezzy continued, "You don't believe for a minute you're getting out of here with Sam."

The cocky blond shrugged and said, "Just like Dudley Do-Right. Dean Winchester always gets his man." He edged away from Sam, trying to draw Rezzy's attention through taunts.

"You can't have him, Rezzy, and you can't break the bond. Only Sammy can, and he'd die first."

Rezzy knew what the hunter said was true. The type of bond the boys had formed could not be forced apart. One or both would have to willingly break it.

"Not a bad idea, Dean. I know a _bokor_ who's doing some amazing things with zombies these days." Rezzy shifted the gun toward Sam and fired.

Sam, still unsteady, had been watching the man closest to him; something was wrong, but his muddled mind couldn't puzzle it out. Due to his distraction Sam did not see Rezzy's attack. He did hear the shot, however, and feel the powerful shove that pushed him to the ground.

Stillness. Silence, except for ragged breathing and the _thump, ka-thump_ of a failing heartbeat.

Sam crawled to the fallen man's side and rolled the body towards him. As he cradled Dean in his arms, his hands became slick with red gore. The exit wound was too large, and the man was loosing too much blood.

There was no hope. So why were the young hunter's eyes alight with hopefulness?

Blood bubbled from lips stretched in a trademark smirk as NewDean whispered, "You once said if I really loved you that I would die for you. Thank Dean for giving me the chance to prove it."

* * *

_Ten Minutes Ago_

Dean turned John gently onto his side. "I'm sorry, Dad. You'll be fine, but I gotta go save Sam."

"You know it's a trap, don't you?"

Dean swiveled his head, astonished to hear his own voice. More astonishing was seeing his own face staring back at him. _Sonofabitch._ The shifter! With less than graceful movements, Dean stood and faced the shifter with his father's gun in his hand.

The shifter raised his hands to show he was unarmed, a replay of what Dean had done to Rezzy. "Don't shoot. I'm here to help."

Dean scoffed. "Why would you want to help me?"

"I don't," replied NewDean. "I want to save Sammy."

"It's Sam."

NewDean smirked. "Like I said, it's a trap. He'll kill you. Then he'll kill Sam. Then he'll probably come back here and kill your old man. Unless you have a plan."

"Oh I have a plan," said Dean. "I plan on blowing your head off for what you did to my brother."

"Look, I love Sammy. You might say he 'got under my skin.'" NewDean waited for a laugh that never came. "Guess Sammy got the brains and the sense of humor. Not to mention the looks." The last was delivered with a waggling of blond eyebrows.

Dean's hands tightened on the trigger. "Not helping your case here."

"Do you really want to stand around and play whose is bigger? I'll kill the suspense right now. It's a tie. Or do you want to save your brother?"

"I suppose you have some brilliant strategy?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Gimme your shirt. And your jacket."

"I just bought these!"

"Gimme!"

* * *

Sam looked into the face of the dying shape-shifter. A voice inside was screaming at him to throw the body to the ground and get as far away as possible. Another voice urged compassion. It was this one he acknowledged as he gathered the shifter in a close embrace. 

"I'm sorry Sammy. I'm so sorry."

"I believe you," said Sam. "And I forgive you."

A single tear escaped NewDean's eye and trickled down his cheek to dissolve onto Sam's hand. NewDean breathed once, twice, no more. Sam gently closed the green eyes staring at the canopy of leaves and laid the rapidly cooling body onto the forest floor. Still kneeling, he looked at Rezzy, who was gloating over his perceived victory.

Rezzy finally looked at Sam's face and noticed that there were no tears.

"What's wrong, Sammy? I thought you'd be crying and wailing about now. Or are you glad Dean's dead?"

Sam stood, brushed off the pine needles on his legs, and said in a slightly raspy voice, "I would be crying and wailing if Dean were gone. But that's not Dean."

Rezzy heard the click behind his right ear. He was alive long enough to catch the final words he would ever hear in this world.

"Nice vest," said Dean as he pulled the trigger on his 9mm.

* * *

_**Epilogue**_

It was nearly four months since Sam and Dean had bonded. Four long months of nothing but light touches to his arm, head, or back and the occasional kiss whenever Sam could catch Dean off guard. Sam was ready. They were bonded, dammit. There would be no one else for him. No one else for Dean. Sam wanted more, but Dean wouldn't allow them to take it to the next level. The closest they had come to actual sex had been two weeks ago when Sam had convinced a tipsy Dean that masturbating in front of each other wasn't really stepping over any weird boundaries. They had done sort of the same thing growing up, except they were both in their own beds trying their damnedest to keep quiet.

Sam thought it was amazing. Especially when Dean came just from watching Sam get off. The older brother hadn't even touched himself during Sam's little performance. It was a very powerful feeling. Since then? Nothing. Well, things were going to change starting tonight.

* * *

Dean made sure he stayed sober; no telling when a horny Sammy would strike. Dean told himself that Sam was just confused. Missouri had told them that the bond was OK, that as long as they at least touched one another each day, Sam was in no danger. Dean knew she was wrong. Sam _was_ in danger. In danger from Dean, who's control was being tested to its limit. Well, things were going to change starting tonight.

* * *

Dean entered their latest motel room and stopped cold. There were candles on the table, on the nightstand, even some in the bathroom. What took the cake, however, was…well…a cake. The most amazing looking chocolate cake. When Dean came closer he saw writing in white icing: Happy Birthday Dean 

.The soft _snick_ of the door closing, followed by the click of the latch alerted Dean to Sam's presence.

Sam moved up behind Dean and wrapped his arms around his brother's waist. He began to nuzzle and lick Dean's neck and held tight as Dean tried to squirm away. A nip to Dean's nape stopped the struggles instantly. Sam had studied Dean long and, _god_, hard, determined to figure out the chinks in Dean's armor. His observation skills were paying off as his lips and hands melted Dean's resistance.

That tiny nibble froze Dean. He couldn't move yet for fear of coming in his jeans. He could hear his breathing pick up the pace as Sam eased Dean's T-shirt from his jeans. Those giant hands, gentle hands, spread wide and rubbed Dean's chest and stomach. He only just noticed that Sammy was humming something and rocking them slowly back and forth.

_I love what your doing, Sammy, but enough with the chick-flick stuff._

Reflexes trained since the age of four whipped Dean around to catch Sam mid-nibble. Dean dragged Sam's mouth to his own and kissed the younger man with a fervor not enjoyed since the night they bonded. Lips and tongue and teeth mapped and marked their territory.

Sam, with the extra inches of height, maintained his awareness of the candles and guided them flawlessly to the bed. Kissing turned to love-filled laughter as the boys tried to maintain lip contact while removing their shoes, socks and jeans. Finally, both were bare before the other, Sam kneeling above Dean.

Dean flipped Sam onto his back, a triumphant grin beaming across his face until he thought about what Sam was seeing. Sam recognized the second Dean's thoughts turned toward the shifter and hurried to reassure his brother that that particular ordeal was over, and that when they were together, he was never afraid.

They returned to their kisses, this time moving slowly, touching and tasting what they had denied for so long. As they familiarized themselves with one another's bodies, Dean reached under the pillow for the little tube he had secreted there earlier. Sam looked surprised, then delighted, and started to turn onto his stomach.

"No, Sam. This is for me."

Sam's jaw dropped. He had never expected Dean to want that. His brother was new to sex with men, and while Sam's experiences were unspeakable, at least he had some.

Dean smiled and said, "Sam, I have been taking care of you, protecting you your whole life. Do you think for one second that I'm gonna do something to you that I haven't done myself? I need to know that I won't be hurting you."

Sam was touched once more by the depth of this man's love for him. He accepted the tube and determined he would do everything in his power to make this the most amazing night of both their lives.

The boys spent the evening making love. Dean bottomed twice – just to make sure he understood the process, of course. Around midnight, cake was consumed and icing was used in new and interesting ways. Near dawn, Dean took Sam as the lay on their sides, Sam's back to Dean's chest. It was perfect, and by far the best gift Dean had ever received.

He whispered this truth into Sam's ear as he held the younger man close. Sam smiled a wicked smile. Dean hadn't opened the package that lay waiting under the bed. He would let Dean open it over breakfast with their father. Maybe he could get Dean to sing one of the songs from the movie to him.

A Big Top edition of the classic movie, Dumbo.

* * *

Oh my God! I killed Rezzy! He's a bastard! 

Thank you all for your patience and support as I struggled with stuff this last year. As you can see, the boys insisted on privacy during the good parts. I only got to peek between the blinds once in a while.

It's over. Done. Finished.

Except for your lovely, lovely reviews, yes?


End file.
